


Chained

by badassunicornakahina, Hehnihere



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Animal Death, Bullying, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Gaslighting, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible smut, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Suspense, This will have a lot of light and dark moments, Thriller, Violence, Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu, other characters appear in minor roles, this is my first ever fic, trigger warnings listed in each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badassunicornakahina/pseuds/badassunicornakahina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hehnihere/pseuds/Hehnihere
Summary: An old town. A new city. And red oak groves that hide many secrets.Levi Ackerman escaped to Havenhearth fueled by a single memory from his childhood. Able to work and live on his own, he can finally start moving on.Yasmin “Baz” Bakhash recently moved back to her hometown after quitting her job as a detective. Surrounded by her large family, she is trying new ways to help the community.The Jäger family is as old as it is rich. And everyone is scared of them. Especially the youngest Jäger. Is that why Dr Jäger refuses to let anyone on the property anymore?Lives knit together and spiral out of control. But when a darkness invades Havenhearth, can Levi and Baz save what they have built or will they find themselves chained again?
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein, Kenny Ackerman & Levi, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s), Levi/Eren Yeager, Levi/Erwin Smith, Moblit Berner & Hange Zoë, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer
Comments: 35
Kudos: 21





	1. Kittens & Compasses

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you are well and finding new ways to be in this weird alternative timeline we've entered. 
> 
> After months of pining, I have finally decided to write the fanfic that's kept me up nights. This is my first ever attempt posting something on AO3. Reading the many wonderful pieces here has given me the space to nurture a part of me that I had buried in the dirt long ago. And I will forever be thankful to the many wonderful writers of the AoT Fandom! 
> 
> This chapter was written in collaboration with Ni (who is awaiting approval on AO3 and will be tagged as soon as she is). None of this would have been possible without her support, enthusiasm and careful manoeuvring of words and coffee-fueled rage sessions. 
> 
> Also, Levi is life and we will save him and hold him and make sure he is okay. Though this fiction may just twist that bit up. 
> 
> For the mood of the first chapter, give this a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPqzupblYnE  
> You can also listen to a Spotify playlist made especially for this chapter. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0cp0Oq8BfvbSy3n6JqSS5d?si=e5N6aJ0nSMGdTwyL3crMpg

It kept raining. 

Darkening the grey stone walls of St Hildegard’s Academy. 

Muddy rivulets ran down the empty grounds, ancient red oaks the only spot of colour across the campus. Assembly was cancelled. Some used the extra time to dry out their blue blazers and some used it to chase each other down the long corridors. Some used it to hammer bits of homework together and some used it to send out group-texts about the first party of the summer. Assistant Principal Shehnaaz made announcements. Teachers reached for warm cups of tea. Smartboards and marble lecterns. Energy-saving bulbs and carved buttresses. Warm fireplaces and 3-D printers. Touchscreens and first edition encyclopedias. Children on scholarships and legacy students from some of the oldest families to settle the land. White, black, brown and all shades in between. St Hildegard housed all the contradictions of Havenhearth - the City of Hope, Mecca for generations who came looking for peace and a better life. 

Laptops came to life, leather satchels were opened. 

The white noise of water gave way to the voices of teachers and students. A boy in 3-A was telling everyone about his achievements last night on Minecraft. 3-B was getting a _Good Touch Bad Touch_ lecture. Most of the class was either dozing off or whispering behind closed fists. It was tradition. 3-C’s teacher seemed to be running late and the boys were cracking up at a caricature someone had drawn on the board. If it resembled the chubby girl sitting alone at the back, it was merely coincidental. In 3-D, things seemed normal. History. With Professor Oluo. The words _Final Project_ s written in neat, cursive handwriting. And a young voice declaiming “I mean sure, they gave us democracy and all that, but the Romans did not treat everyone equal.” The girl gestured emphatically, running through slides, each of which got more lascivious than the last. She finally stopped at a piece of verse and the class gasped. “Catullus’ Carmen 16, the poem wasn’t even translated until recently, there are like graphic descriptions of sodomy and rape -” 

“Alright Ymir,” Professor Oluo jumped up from his seat, “that’s quite enough!” If his voice seemed pitched higher than usual, no one commented on that. 

“But Professor, my time’s not up yet!” the dark, freckled girl protested. 

Professor Oluo wiped the sweat off his head. He reached for his cup of tea, realizing he had run out. 

“Are you trying to stop me because I said sodomy and rape?” Ymir continued. 

Protest was often Ymir’s default setting for conversation. She folded her arms and raised a brow at her teacher. 

It was a week before vacations. The summer rains had just begun. Principal Brezenska had replaced final exams with project work and internal assessments. It was supposed to level the playing field. For Professor Oluo, it levelled his hopes for a quiet morning. He turned his head to the ceiling, perhaps hoping to find less belligerent students in the rafters. 

The janitor mopped away the mud at the entrance to his class and continued to wipe down the grime further down the corridor. 

\- - - 

_Brrrrng_!! 

Students poured out of classrooms and headed to the next one. They didn't notice the effect their rush had on the freshly cleaned floors. One boy, tall, with freckles and a serious face, scurried away to the boys’ restroom. Another boy with glowing emerald eyes followed close behind. Just before the freckled boy could lock the stall door, the boy with the green eyes pushed his hand through the crack and pulled the door open. 

“Oh come on, Marco, why are you running from your friend, hmm? That’s a bit rude, isn’t it?” He grabbed the other young boy’s hand and dragged him out of the stall. 

“E-Eren please, not now. Don’t hurt me, please.” 

“Do you mean to say that I cause harm to you, Marco? That’s a serious accusation there, buddy.” The emerald-eyed boy, Eren moved closer to Marco, his hand making its way up right to his chin. “You wouldn’t ruin our friendship like that, would you, Marco?” Eren tightened his grip on Marco’s jaw. Marco’s knees buckled. Eren grinned. His shoulders seemed to grow wider, as if he was a demon who fed on fear. He brought his other hand to Marco’s forehead, pushing his hair back.

_Bang!_

The door bounced back, striking the janitor’s cart as he pushed it in. Eren froze. He forced his hands away from Marco’s jaw. He straightened his collar. Marco turned and left the restroom, as quickly as he could without running. 

Eren turned to the sinks. With the slowest of motions, he rolled his sleeves up and began washing his hands. His fierce green eyes watching the pale reflection of the man behind him rinsing out the mop. He shut the water and left the restroom.

The janitor proceeded to mop the restroom floors.

\- - -

Professor Armin Arlert had already started class when Eren entered. 

The young teacher had to force himself very hard not to break his flow as the young man proceeded to saunter right down the middle of the classroom to reach his seat at the back. The kid made it very hard though, banging his palm down flat on Bodt’s table, making the poor boy, his classmates and teacher jump. 

“Sorry Marco,” Eren said, “Didn't see where I was going, buddy.” 

And then he pet his head, like the kid was a dog. 

God, Eren Jäger made Armin’s blood boil! And great, now he had lost track of where he was and all he could think of was the way his heart was pounding and the look on Marco Bodt’s face. A look he recognized all too well. A look he still occasionally saw in the mirror. Even after all these years. 

“Professor,” Christa Lenz, Patron Saint of the Academy said, drawing him back to the present. “Should we proceed with the character analysis?” 

Right! Character analysis! He turned back to the whiteboard, scrambling to write a name on it. 

_The Werewolf’s Granddaughter_

Well, Carter rarely named her heroines. So he had to be innovative. 

“So what do we know about her?” 

Armin felt his control and enthusiasm for the class return as hands went up. He had set Angela Carter’s _Werewolf_ for the class in the faint hope that the story was gory enough to draw the class in and short enough to retain their attention. And even though Falco guffawed that the heroine’s most memorable characteristic was her cleavage (nope, that was not even obliquely hinted at in the story), pretty soon he had a list of characteristics spiralling out of the central key phrase. 

“...ultimately, are the girl's actions justified? Did she do the right thing? Whose moral compass -”

Armin didn't need to look to know where the interrupting grunt came from.

“Eren,” he said calmly, “you have something to contribute?”

Eren smirked. He was leaning back in his chair, long legs spread further apart than could be considered civil or even comfortable. 

“Excuse me, Professor Arlert, but what exactly _is_ right or wrong? Is a moral compass, as you call it, even necessary? In this world, you are either predator or prey. You either eat,” he paused, eyes lingering on Marco again, “or get eaten.” Falco snickered at that one. 

“So,” Armin tried, placing his hands behind his back, “you don't care who gets hurt as long as you get what you want?” 

“Just because caged birds have rights, doesn't mean I have to respect them,” Eren shot back.

The boy was daring Armin to say something, attempt moral philosophizing, _correct_ his stance… so he could continue venting his teenage nihilism to divert the class’ attention. And Armin was over it. 

_A man without ethics is a wild beast loosened onto the world._

He scribbled on the board above the character analysis, placing the dot at the end of the sentence just as the bell rang - his _Peter-tingle_ working like a charm again. 

“That’s Albert Camus,” he told the class as he picked up his things, “Since Mr.Jager is so invested in his sentiments, next class, I’d like us to debate this proposition for twenty percent of your final grade” He pointed to the board. Falco groaned the loudest, research for class debates sucked! “I leave you to decide who is for and who against.” Armin turned to walk out, then paused, “Marco,” he called out, catching the boy’s frantic eyes, “could you come with me to the staffroom? I need help carrying some books.” 

The boy ran to follow his professor. 

\- - - 

By lunchtime, Armin was starving. He ran to the staffroom to drop off his books and retrieve his food. Then made his way to the school grounds for the most thrilling half hour in any teacher’s glamour-filled day - lunch duty. 

The rain had slowed to a drizzle. There weren’t too many students outside. Armin balanced himself on the parapet, shaded by an oak at the corner of the main school building. He opened his lunchbox. A post-it fluttered out. 

_I love you_

It read, when Armin managed to chase it down. He smiled. 

<user>: I love you too. 

Before he could return to his lunch, his phone buzzed in his back pocket

Jeanbo: I know 

Armin rolled his eyes and made to put his phone away when it buzzed again.

Jeanbo: Don’t forget about today, yeah? 

<user>: Telling me or reminding yourself?

Jeanbo: Duty calls, see you later

Armin rolled his eyes harder, did a quick scan of the perimeter, opened his camera and clicked the most obnoxious kissy-face selfie he could manage on such short notice. 

Someone laughed. Armin whipped around. But there was no one in that particular corridor. And none of the students outside seemed to be paying him any heed. He picked up the sandwiches Jean had packed for him, along with his love-note and stalked away from that spot. Lunch duty be damned. 

He found a quiet bench at the back of the school, next to a collection of neatly lined trashcans. There was a small overgrown garden in front of it, with two paper birches enclosed within. Those trees had grown tall over the harsh winter they’d had. 

Armin noticed someone squatting down within the collection of wild herbs and bushes. It was the new janitor. He walked over to him, munching a sandwich. 

“Hey!” he called out. 

The man in the bushes jerked up, turning to Armin with wide eyes which he quickly trained to the ground. 

“Levi, right?” the man nodded, “What have you got there?” 

Armin squatted down next to Levi. A small, calico cat lay by his feet, her kittens awkwardly pawing at the wet grass. There was a bowl of kibble and another with milk at the foot of the tree. 

“Are you feeding them?” Armin asked, smiling at the sight. 

“They d-don't cause any trouble,” Levi spoke haltingly, his eyes still on the ground.

“I’m sure they don’t,” Armin cooed, reaching for the nearest kitten. 

“C-Careful… claws are sharp… gently…” 

Armin pulled his hand back hesitantly. That’s when momma decided to come investigate the smell of tuna emanating from his sandwich. He offered her a small piece, she pulled it neatly from his hand and proceeded to lick up the tuna paste, because of course, the bread was for lowlier beings. 

Armin formed a loose fist and gently stretched his arm out again to pet the cat. She retreated to Levi’s feet. Armin chuckled. He picked up the bolder of the kittens with his spare hand, caressing it. “I’ll bring some treats for them tomorrow.” 

Levi’s gaze shifted to him. 

“You’re not going to… have them sent away?” 

“No of course not,” Armin replied, confused, “why would I? It’s too soon for them to be adopted. Besides, they seem happy here with you feeding them.” He nuzzled the black and white furball. “Are you happy? Huh? You have a full tummy. Of course, you’re happy.” The kitten tried to climb on to his head. 

Armin heard the bell signalling the end of lunch somewhere in the distance. He had two more classes before the day ended, which meant kitten time was over. He handed the critter back to Levi - who was again looking at the ground - bade him farewell and turned to leave.

“T-Thank you” he heard Levi say softly, “For coming over to talk… Sir.” 

Armin replied, “You can call me Armin, Levi. It was my pleasure.” And to the Matron of the Royal Whiskers Family “I’ll be back tomorrow with treats, so you better let me pet you!” 

He waved to Levi before leaving, jogging back to the staffroom, stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth. 

\- - - 

The day had ended. The rain continued. Eren sat in the classroom with the lights off. The evening sky outside made him look more like a shadow than the human who owns it. Sports meets, drama clubs, volunteer programmes - all those pathetic ways people his age tried to fit in - had all ended for the year. Everyone was long gone. It was just him and grey walls. His place, his time. And his favourite after-school activity. Staying back, alone. In this massive, windy, old, old, old place. Full and noisy, halls, productive and cheerful classrooms, no he didn't belong in them. Eren scoffed. It’s not like he belonged back home either. But this emptiness. This void, where all those voices were snuffed out. This was his. 

He stretched back against the wall then pulled forward as the gentle rumble of a cart drew closer. 

The janitor switched the lights on. If Eren’s presence startled him, he did not show it. 

Levi started at the teacher’s desk, moving a pendrive he found into the drawer. He sprayed the surface with a mix of lemon and tree oil and then wiped it down thoroughly. He could feel the eyes on him, his back stiff under the attention. He tugged the elastic cuffs of his overalls. Nothing to see here. He bent slightly over the desk to clean the other side. 

_Click_

Levi froze at that sound. He knew that sound. He knew the way his breath shortened in response to it. He knew… 

Levi turned around slowly to see the Jager boy get up from his seat, eyes still fixed on him. Levi knew what those eyes meant. The voices started in his head, but the words didn't make it to his mouth. He knew...

“Mr Jäger?” Armin walked into the classroom. “What are you still doing here?”

The teacher didn't wait for a response, marching over to his desk to rummage through the drawers. He found the pendrive where Levi had deposited it minutes ago and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to Eren.

“Come on Mr Jäger, let’s go. Principal Brezenska will have my head if I let you stay here after hours.” Armin turned to Levi. “How long till your shift ends Levi?” he asked cheerfully. 

“Another hour,” Levi responded.

“Oh my, that’s brutal!” he turned to find that Eren hadn’t moved. “Jäger, come on,” he said, firmer this time, “My ride’s waiting. Out, now!” 

Eren’s eyes lingered on Levi as he finally walked out. Armin walked after him.

“Go home safe Levi,” he said and then stopped, for just a moment. Because he knew that look in the man’s eyes. A look that disappeared even as he watched.

Armin left. Levi gathered his broomstick and began sweeping the classroom.


	2. Breakfasts & Birth Certificates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Detective Kisrchtein, good morning.” 
> 
> “Good morning Chief Azumabito. Got something for me?”
> 
> “I'd like you to drop by the Wagner residence before you come in. Christof Wagner called me personally.”
> 
> “Wow, must be important. Did someone abduct his pet budgerigar or something?”
> 
> “His valet's daughter didn't make it home last night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Description of Illegal Activities | Graphic Depiction of Corpses | Necrophilia | Well, not exactly, but close  
> Please be careful. 
> 
> Here is the next chapter. Hehnihere has been approved by AO3 and I am finally able to tag her in here. We sincerely hope we can continue posting new chapters over the weekend, though technically the weekend here ended 8 minutes ago. Who's keeping track anyway? 
> 
> Hope the lockdown is treating you well. I am out of milk and the cats have been disappointed for the past couple of days. Ni just keeps getting assignments that she despises. So, at least that hasn't changed. 
> 
> If you read this, please leave us a comment or something so we know. We're shooting in the dark here and could use some light.
> 
> For the mood of this chapter, you can listen to a Spotify playlist made just for this purpose. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6dOnIw8hCLnd7Ajkw7E82U?si=Up3jkcE2RFS9WKhJVL4k_g

The smell of _ghee_ in the morning. 

The soft sizzle of _dosai_ in the pan. 

His boyfriend, running around in boxers, trying to put on a pair of socks while searching for his… what was it this time?

“My pendrive Jean! All my graded projects are on it!” 

“Study table, living room.” 

Mrs Mudaliar had taught Jean the technique of spreading the batter in steady, circular motions. She lived two floors down and ran an Indian take-away service. She had gifted him the flat-bottomed pan when he had moved in. The ghee and fermented rice batter came from her personal stock as well. Jean’s love for Indian food though, came from his mother, who had spent a winter travelling in South India when she was, 

_“... young, single and still full of hopes and dreams.”_

She was still at least two out of those three things. She had moved to Havenhearth twenty-five years ago. Letting go of a marriage that wasn’t working but her grip firm on the six-year-old boy, who was, 

_“...the only thing worth salvaging from that shipwreck.”_

His mum had also taught him how to cook. It was something they did. Especially on the nights when Jean asked about his papa. Or the days when he came back with black eyes and torn shirts. They used to say it was, 

_“...because the boy has no father…”_

More likely because the boy was a bit of an arsehole. Anyway, it was sometimes better to do something together than try and sort through feelings neither of them quite understood. And so they cooked. A lot. Jean was an angry and oftentimes violent child. It surprised a lot of the people who knew him as a boy when he chose his career path as an adult. His mom wasn’t one of them. To her it was, 

_“... perfectly sensible. Like making the class bully monitor.”_

“The _chutney’s_ still frozen.” Armin illustrated this by thwacking his fork against the solid mass.

“I guess someone forgot to take it out of the freezer last night.”

“You could have reminded me.”

Jean lifted an eyebrow. Armin grinned. Jean shook his head. Armin pushed himself up on the counter and leaned in to kiss Jean on his forehead. Then he went round to the refrigerator and pulled out the HP sauce. Jean sighed. 

“So have you picked where we’re going? Mountains or the beach?” Armin asked as they sat down to eat. 

They had an average apartment for a working couple. Downtown, apartment complex, two bedrooms, one of which they had converted in to a study and a large hall for friends, family and awkward parties with colleagues. Their kitchen opened onto a balcony with a decent view of the sunset. That’s where they ate their meals when it was just the two of them. Armin had corners for his books and purchases from local artists. Jean had plants and a kitchen full of exotic ingredients; only slightly marred by Armin’s collection of British condiments. 

There was a nice breeze this morning. 

“Mum’s going to the beach this year.”

“There _are_ other beaches in the world.” 

They had started their little breakfast tradition when they were dating. Jean had been working round the clock. And Armin had gotten tired of seeing his boyfriend only on intermittent texts. 

“Do you remember the first time you saw a beach? For me, it was when mum took me to Nice. I was 12 and it was our first time returning to France.”

Yet another dawn had been rising around Jean as he dragged himself back home. Only this time, he found Armin waiting by his car, leaning on his bicycle.

“Grandpa took me to Brighton. I was fifteen. Made out with a tall, dark and handsome older gentleman. Came out to Grandpa because he caught me making out with said gentleman. Good times."

Armin had woken up at 5 am to make Jean breakfast. And Jean had choked. Not on the food. Though he had seriously tempted fate by eating an egg sandwich while bawling his eyes out. 

“I never came out to mum.”

“Dating me for four years might have clued her in though.”

Armin brought Jean breakfast every morning for three months. They ate together. Then Jean drove home to crash for a few hours before returning to work. And Armin cycled uphill to St Hildegard’s to brighten young minds with knowledge or Brasso or whatever it was that teachers used nowadays. 

They did this every day till Jean made detective. 

Then Jean asked Armin to move in with him. 

And they continued doing it. 

The phone rang.

“Detective Kisrchtein, good morning.” 

“Good morning Chief Azumabito. Got something for me?”

“I'd like you to drop by the Wagner residence before you come in. Christof Wagner called me personally.”

“Wow, must be important. Did someone abduct his pet budgerigar or something?”

“His valet's daughter didn't make it home last night."

“Shit, sorry Chief. I'll go check it out.” 

“Keep me posted.” 

When it came to multi-tasked dressing protocols, Jean had his partner beat hands down. He got dressed in minutes and was out of the house, chewing on a rolled-up dosai. It wasn't often he left the house before Armin did. Whenever he had to, things tended to be serious. 

  
  


\----

  
  


It was disturbing how often fathers of teenage daughters thought it was perfectly within their rights to wait up nights for their daughters to come home. Pacing the floor. Hovering by the door. 

_Like a cat ready to pounce, reducing a responsible child to a whimpering rodent._

That’s the kind of father Mr Leonhart struck Jean to be. The kind who would blow up his daughter’s phone if she was out 10 minutes past curfew. But then again, Annie hadn’t come home at all this time. Not yet, any way. 

Annie Leonhart was 16, studying at St Hildegard. The same place Christof Wagner’s son Thomas studied. She was an average student, but captain of the school’s hockey team. She was supposed to have gone to study with her teammate after school. 

“School lets out in 4 days and that new-age principal cancelled all exams. So I don't know what she was out to _study_.” 

That was Mr Wagner. Like the Jägers, Brauns, Hoovers and Diamants, the Wagners were old money. Supposedly the first families to settle Havenhearth. The first white families anyway. Old enough for him to sit in, hawk-like, on Jean’s interview. Wagner sat at the head of the long, mahogany table. Annie’s father sat at the extreme end, his shoulders sagging. He seemed embarrassed to have gotten his employer involved. Wagner watched him with lowered eyes. His concern would have been endearing if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Jean had what he could get for now. Officers were questioning other members of the household. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr Leonhart?” 

“I just want my daughter to come home.” 

Jean cringed inwardly at the vehemence and spit that accompanied the statement. He sincerely hoped that an irate father would be all Annie had to deal with when she came home. Havenhearth was relatively safe as cities went, but as a member of the police force, it was sometimes hard to be optimistic. 

“We’ll do our best,” Jean said, handing the man his card, “please call me if you hear anything from her.” 

“You might want to look in to those charity cases Brezenska admitted to the school.” Mr Wagner added, unnecessarily. He meant the kids St Hildegard had admitted on scholarship this year under the city’s Equal Opportunities Act. Annie herself was one of those kids. 

“Thanks for the tip, Mr Wagner.” 

“The Jäger boy,” Jean stopped. Mr Leonhart looked at his lord and master sheepishly before continuing, “he had... a thing... for my Annie. Kept calling her and showing up here.”

“I’m sure he came to meet Thomas, not… _your_ daughter Noah.”

_Again, thank you for your input Mr Wagner. What would I do without you Mr Wagner!_

“We’ll be sure to look in to every lead Mr Leonhart.” 

Jean called Chief Azumabito with updates, supervised a cursory search through the young girl’s room and since he was already in the neighbourhood, decided to pay a visit to the Jägers. 

  
  


\----

  
  


Professor Armin had brought food for the cats like he said he would. Levi liked people who did what they said they would. He stored the food in the janitor’s closet. The small space was used by the rest of the cleaning crew too. But just like he didn’t touch Selina’s ‘baccy or Mahib’s magazines, he was sure they wouldn’t touch his stuff either. Trust was simple. With small things. 

The cops had come to the school today. And when he had been called to the principal’s office, Levi had been terrified that they had come for him. But they had come to talk to some students about a girl who was missing. And Assistant Principal Shehnaaz had called him in to remind him to submit his documents to HR. He had claimed to have misplaced them during his move from Trost. But it had been two months since he had joined. So now he had to submit them or come up with a better cover story. 

Levi narrowed his eyes at the screen, carefully trimming the background from the image Kojo had taken of him just minutes ago. He didn't look at his own face, he didn’t want to. The tin shed was burning up with the heat of a dozen computers and an inverter system. Kojo sat with his big feet up on his desk at the entrance of the internet cafe, listening to something he called trap. He was also smoking a joint. The smell bothered Levi, but he wasn’t about to complain about the relaxation habits of the man who let him use his computers all night and didn’t question the borderline illegality of his current activities. Kojo was a young, black man who had grown up in the south side slums of Havenhearth. When Levi moved in here, he wasn’t exactly shunned - poverty was poverty, no matter the colour of its skin - but people weren’t exactly lining up to welcome him either. Not that he minded being left alone. But a chance to work on a computer after so many years was too tempting to resist. 

It wasn’t an i-cafe or something. The cafe housed mainly repurposed computers, started as part of an e-literacy drive Havenhearth ran a couple of years ago. Kojo managed to bag the job of cafe manager by simply being demonstrably best at South Side’s dominant talent of fixing old things and combining components to make them work. Most of the people here can’t afford computers but for a small monthly fee, they could afford the cafe. Business was good. Kojo got to keep a share of the profits and he got a salary from the city. It was a sweet deal. 

Kojo called Levi his friend. Levi thought of Kojo as a useful ally in his reinvention. Kojo let Levi use his computers after-hours for as long as he wished. Levi cleaned Kojo’s internet cafe and helped him shoot TikTok videos on weekends. It was simple. 

Levi hit print, finally satisfied with the alignment of his photo on the driver’s license template. The printer jerked through the throes of the task. He collected the copies of the birth certificate, high school diploma and proof of residence he had already created and stacked them neatly in to a plastic folder. 

“You headin’ home soon man?” Kojo asked. 

“No, I have assignments to finish,” Levi responded. 

“For a cleanin’ man, you sure do have lots a’ things goin’ on.”

“Wasn’t always a cleaning man.” 

“And sure as hell ain’t stayin’ one. What you workin’ on now, Levi?” 

“Machine learning.”

“Fan-cy.”

Levi shrugged. He was also pursuing online courses in coding, design thinking, finance management and business communication. But Kojo didn't need to know that. 

“Right on, brother.” Kojo stood up and stretched, his back cracking almost as loud as the printing machine. “Close up after, eh?” 

Levi caught the keys tossed at him one-handed, eyes not leaving the tutorial playing out in front of him. It was nearing midnight. He would probably remain here for another few hours at least. Learning was good. Learning kept his head in the game. 

If he stayed here and kept learning, he wouldn’t have to lie awake in the dark, trying to drown out the rattling of chains. 

He clicked on the next video. 

  
  


\----

  
  


“Where were you?”

It was a question that never led anywhere good. But one had to ask it. 

“The fuck do you care?” 

Grisha Jäger stood at the bottom of the central stairwell. His son was half-way up it. Even from the distance of a few feet, the stale smell of sweat and cigarette smoke was palpable. 

“Eren, it’s nearly midnight.” 

Eren turned to face his father. The man wore his hair long in a wasted attempt to hide his balding head. He had a pronounced paunch and he squinted through heavy prescription glasses. 

“So?” 

Grisha wished he had a response for that. He really did. 

Eren’s eyes flashed. He climbed down a few steps.

“Just because you’re too lame to get invited anywhere, doesn’t mean I have to sit at home too.”

“You were at a party or something?” the older man tried again. 

“Or something.” 

Eren waited. Grisha turned away. He always did. 

Eren smiled. He turned too. 

“The cops came home today.”

Eren stopped again. 

“Did they finally find what’s buried out on the grounds?”

“They were asking about the Leonhart girl.”

“She’s probably on a bender with her girlfriend.” 

“I hope you are right.” 

Eren continued to climb. 

“I won’t cover for you again Eren.” 

The sound of Eren’s laughter carried through the hall. 

  
  


\---

  
  


The sound of gunshots blasted through his headphones. Eren yanked another beer from his fridge and settled back on the beanbag. Then continued shooting hapless prostitutes and running over innocent bystanders with his stolen car on the life-size screen that took up most of his west wall. 

A notification popped up on his screen. He tore his headphones off and clicked on it. It had been three weeks, the longest he had had to wait. He was almost afraid the man was slacking off. 

The high-resolution image blew up on his screen. 

Eren’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open. 

It was a man this time. He had been posed on his knees, legs spread wide apart, giving a clear view of all that lay between. There was something shoved up him, could be a bottle, could be a dildo, that part of the picture was too dark to actually make out. The gash on his neck gaped open, blood drained, washed clean - the red, raw focal point of the masterpiece. Eyes stared at him, inked and lifeless.

Eren felt saliva pool in his mouth. He spat it out on to his hand, spreading it before diving in to his boxers to grasp his hardening length. 

He was back. 

And it was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Osewa ni narimasu!
> 
> Please leave comments if you have questions or suggestions for us!


	3. Lies and Lionhearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s the school you see - kids who are keen and well-behaved, come from good families. And there’s the school I see. Muck dragged in on boots too shabby for a place this fancy, of torn notes and condom wrappers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the mood of this chapter, you can listen to a Spotify playlist made just for this purpose.   
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UxjTwgqQQrVaeFUJVnONW?si=mw2PVx6-ReOYg84-5mqBPQ

Annie Leonhart, 16. Student at St Hildegard’s Academy. Last seen by her teammates and coach as she left school after hockey practice Monday evening. Last caught on camera at the corner of her Red Oaks and Main Street as she crossed over on her way home 30 minutes later. 

“Wasn’t she supposed to meet a friend after school?”

Chief Kiyomi Azumabito sat in the debriefing room with the entire investigative team on Annie Leonhart’s case. It was just before 7:00 am. She was sipping green tea while most of them were chugging black coffee. She knew some of them had spent the night here. She tried to go easy on them, but she needed her facts in order to present them correctly at the press conference later in the morning. Well, she’d bring them chocolate cake from her niece's shop when this was all over. 

“Yes, the girl Mr Leonhart named, knew nothing about it,” Kirschstein replied. He was Lead Investigator on the Leonhart case. Young, but determined and thorough. “In fact, she was surprised that Annie even mentioned her to her father. She was in the same class as her, but didn’t consider Annie a friend.”

“That’s actually what a lot of her classmates are saying,” Mina Carolina, who was heading the interviews at St Hildegard’s, spoke up, “No one really knew the girl. Not enough to have her over at their house anyway. The hockey team as well. She was close to a couple of the other girls, but she kept refusing invitations to hang out with them.”

“She came home late once or twice a week,” Kirschstein added, “always named the person she was going to be with. Studying or practising.” 

“And her father never saw through this?” 

“Not that we can tell. He claims to have spoken to Annie’s friends _and_ their parents before permitting her to stay out.” 

“So she has a pattern of lying to her father and has spent hours being unaccounted for” Chief Azumabito took another sip of her green tea, then looked up to find her whole team looking at her. “What?”

“We were hoping you could keep that bit to yourself,” Kirschstein offered. 

“You’re worried about public opinion getting prejudiced against her?” 

“We’re still compiling data from the interviews with students and staff at St Hildegard, but there’s enough to indicate that there’s a difference in the way the older, legacy students are treated and the way the new students, who got in on the scholarship programme, are treated.” Kirschstein looked to Karolina for confirmation.

“Yes, it’s not institutional, I think. But the school castes could be the context to her disappearance.” 

Azumabito rolled the tea around in her mouth before swallowing. 

“Fine, what are your theories at this point?” 

\---

This was insane. 

Armin hoped that Annie is doing okay. He hoped that soon she will be found. That all this turns out to be nothing more than an unplanned roadtrip she took to deal with the helpless rage of being a teenager. 

But this was fucking insane. 

Armin didn’t think he had slept in the past four days. He came home to an empty apartment in the evening. He tried his best to grade assignments and plan his vacation. He crawled into an empty bed at night. And then in the morning, he cycled to a stone building full of rumours and hysterics as three hundred and sixty teenagers and sixty adults tried their best to carry on without imagining one of their numbers lying mangled in a ditch somewhere… 

_pale and alone, her hand reaching for comfort that would never come as the rain continued to pelt her unfeeling skin, the mud gathering around her face, seeping in to her nostrils and sluicing down her throat…_

Armin squeezed his eyes shut. This really was the last thing he needed. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath and reached for the coffee pot. 

“This is fucking insane.” 

Professor Oluo looked about ready to punch something. Most likely his own face. Armin rolled his eyes. Yes, everyone was under a lot of stress, but surely a teacher, nay a _professor_ , needed to comport himself with a little more dignity. Yesterday, the man had apparently bitten his own tongue in agitation when his class demanded updates regarding Annie. There was blood. And someone in the class fainted. Most likely Oluo himself. 

“It’s the last day of school, Oluo. Just get through this one,” Armin said. He wasn't one to begrudge a man some sympathy no matter how annoying he was. 

“I don't know Armin. The kids are scared. The cops are here again. None of us is allowed to leave town till further notice. This doesn’t look like it will end when the school year does.” 

“It’s just for a little while. Till they find her.” 

“Do you think they will?” 

There was a silence around that question. Something more than the absence of sound. Something more like all the breaths in the room being held. The few other teachers in the lounge were looking at him. Like somehow he’s supposed to know what to do. Like somehow he’s supposed to fix this. 

“Yes, they will.”

“Armin?” Vice-principal Shehnaaz entered the lounge, carrying her own stress in on stiff shoulders, “Do you think you can sit in on the interviews this morning? They’re using 3 B and a lot of your kids are scheduled for today.” 

“Sure.” 

“Great, you just need to supervise,” She handed him a list of students and a print-out of guidelines for such situations. “Intervene if you think things are getting out of hand. Though the officers have been really nice so far.” 

She left, seeming even more preoccupied than when she came in. 

\---

It was raining. Again. 

Armin was used to wet summers. And winters. And autumns. And springs. The seasons back in his corner of England might as well have all just been called _pissing with slight variations in temperature_. The summer rains in Havenhearth, though, were beautiful. The air became fresh, the heat died down for a bit and by the evening, everything was pleasant enough to go visit the beer gardens. 

Now though, it was dismal days of dreary downpours. Or maybe the circumstances just coloured the weather blue. Armin slid the door to 3 B open. And stopped. 

Jean was standing inside. He shrugged out of his dark grey and clearer wet blazer. His hair was wet too. Probably not because the prat forgot his raincoat at home, but because getting wet in the rain was clearly the _cooler_ choice. Jean turned around. He looked knackered, sporting a 5’o clock shadow at nine in the morning. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and then gave a rather unseemingly stretch. 

Armin rolled his eyes. At the fact that even dishevelled, he still found Jean heartbreakingly adorable. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Jean fumbled sleepily, “you sitting in today?”

“Yes, is that going to be a problem?”

“No… ah…” Jean yawned. 

Armin sighed.

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Caught a few hours last night, I think.” 

“Here,” Armin offered his coffee over. 

“What about you?” 

“I’ll get some more.” 

“No… err… I should…” 

Armin placed his hand on Jean’s cheek. 

“It’s just coffee Jean,” he said with a soft smile, the kind that won him more arguments in this relationship than all the logic and reasoning in the world, “you clearly need it more than me.” 

Jean smiled back, the worry in his eyes disappearing for a bit.

“Sir, would you like me to get you some more coffee?”

Both men turned around to find Levi standing at the end of the classroom, putting his mop away in the cart. 

“Levi!” Armin started. 

“Have you been here the entire time, man?” Jean asked, with a frown. 

Levi shrugged. “I was asked to clean this classroom.” 

“Right, okay, are you done?” 

“Yes.” 

“Cool, you should get us that coffee then.” 

Levi turned and dragged his cart away. 

Jean watched him leave. “That guy’s a janitor here?” 

“Yes, he joined a couple of months back I think,” Armin replied, “why are you asking?”

“Cause he’s too smart-looking for a janitor.” 

“Jean, are you profiling janitors now?”

“Oh come on Min, you know what I mean,” Jean insisted, “There’s gotta be a story behind him working here.”

Armin didn’t respond to that. Truth was, he had wondered the same thing. 

Jean had the camera set up by the time Levi returned with the coffee. And Krista, the first interview for the day waltzed in right after.

So he let go of his thoughts about Levi and focussed on supervising some brats instead. 

\---

By lunchtime, Armin was more disappointed in the youth than anyone in his profession had the right to be. None of them had anything useful to say about Annie, most made it clear they wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere, some treated Jean as a symbol of an oppressive system they had _literally_ zero experience with and the word 'wanksta' had been used on three separate occasions. 

Right now, Armin just wanted a sandwich. He didn’t have one of course. Jean had been too busy to make him one and he hadn’t woken up in time to make himself one either. So it was another serving of cup noodles being slurped as he watched over the rained-in courtyard. Ymir and her gang of rebels-without-a-cause decided to drop in on him, they wanted to know what had been discussed in the interviews and if they had any suspects and if it was someone from the school. When Ymir pulled out facts about missing persons from Havenhearth, he pulled on his best teacher-face and got them to return back to more student-like pursuits. 

He soon made his way to the overgrown garden with the birch trees. Levi had built a shelter for the Whiskers - something temporary but enough to keep mother and children out of the rain. The janitor was hunched by the shelter, wiping the eyes of one of the kittens, cooing to them as it mewled pathetically at the ill-treatment. Armin squatted next to him, handing Levi the next kitten when he put down the first. Jean’s comment about Levi looking too sharp to be a janitor was painfully apparent to anyone who cared to look at the man. 

“How do you like working here?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“And what are your thoughts about the school?” 

Levi looked at him, looking back to the ground before Armin could meet his eyes. He shrugged.

“Come on, you’ve got to give me more than that Levi.”

Levi remained silent. But Armin knew from the past few days of getting to know the man that his silences were often an attempt to gather his thoughts. And again Armin found himself wondering why the man measured his words so much. 

“There’s the school you see,” Levi began as he started cleaning the third kitten, “kids who are keen and well-behaved, come from good families. And there’s the school I see. Muck dragged in on boots too shabby for a place this fancy, of torn notes and condom wrappers.” He paused again, putting the final kitten down in the makeshift shelter. He watched it as it nosed it’s way to its mother's soft belly. “The first week I was here, a kid slipped down some stairs. I had just cleaned them.” Armin remembered that. The poor boy had broken an arm and had to miss nearly two weeks of school. “I was told to be more thorough about drying the places I had cleaned. But it wasn't raining then, and I hadn’t used a wet mop.” Levi stood up, ready to leave. “He was the night watchman’s son. And no one saw him slip.” Levi turned away, but before he could take a step, Armin rushed to stop him. He grabbed his arm. Levi stiffened. Armin let go. 

“Levi, do you know something that the teachers don't?”

“Like I said Sir, there’s two schools. If you want to know something about the one you don't see, talk to those kids who got in because of the city’s equal opportunity programme.” Levi stepped away.

“We’ve tried talking to them,” Armin sighed.

“Maybe you’re just not listening in the right places.” 

  
\---

School was supposed to be out for summer the next day on. Rico had called for an assembly with the whole school before letting them go. So Armin was waiting in line with the rest of the teachers as Rico preached to her flock. She addressed Annie’s case head-on and laid out some safety measures and directives laid out by the police. Armin barely paid attention. He was still confused and concerned by his conversation with Levi. Assembly ended. Kids rushed out. Teachers went back to the lounge. Armin stayed back with the custodial crew to help fold and stay the chairs. He noticed Levi wasn't among them. 

When he saw Marco enter the hall, searching frantically. He called to the boy and Marco ran to him, nearly knocking him over. He noticed there was a cut on the boy’s lips and that his shirt was torn and dirty.

“Sir, you’ve got to help!” he whispered urgently. 

“What happened Marco? What’s wrong?”

Ten minutes later Armin was running to the Principal’s office. Her receptionist insisted that Ms Brezenska was in a private meeting and could not be disturbed, but Armin bulled his way past as the young man on the front desk watched with an open mouth. 

He opened the door as quietly as he could. Then stopped. 

“I have no choice but to fire you, Levi.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave us your feedback and thoughts in the comments!


	4. Corridors & Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one brief insane moment he contemplated jumping out of the large windows that lined the corridor. They were three floors up. Whatever would happen to him would be better than what was coming. Then he noticed the small door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! IT'S ME! Hehnihere is here! Pleased to introduce myself hehe.
> 
> Sorry for the slight delay this time everyone, but we would rather provide the greatest content that we can instead of rushing through with it~
> 
> I hope everyone is doing mentally and physically sound! I'm done with most of the assignments that I still do despise so yay for me~!! However, I miss outside air because I do not open windows due to entomophobia (google it).
> 
> Let my unicorn bb and I know that you read this by commenting "matter" down below because then we know that these notes matter and you will be reminded that you matter too! Say hi if that's what you want to say! See you again at the end of this chapter! Bye-bye!!

His sneakers skid through the empty corridors. 

All the classrooms were empty. He had thought that it would be safe. They never went near that bathroom. It was meant for the janitorial staff. The whole school was gathered in the main hall for the principal’s address. And there was no one to save him. 

He was stupid. He was so stupid. 

Marco ran down another silent corridor. Nearly falling over in haste. Tears and blood dripped on to the floor. They had taken his backpack. Thrown everything in the trash. Ripped his school blazer. Kicked him in his head. And they still wanted more. 

The corridor ended. There was nowhere else to run. No place left to hide. Marco began to panic. He could hear their shoes thudding down the way he had just escaped. For one brief insane moment he contemplated jumping out of the large windows that lined the corridor. They were three floors up. Whatever would happen to him would be better than what was coming. Then he noticed the small door. Marco ran into it. It was a closet for cleaning supplies. 

He managed to slam the small latch into place just as Thomas rammed in to the door. The closet door held. But the way it shook under Thomas’s pounding probably meant that it wouldn’t for much longer. Marco got as far away from the door as he could, stumbling in to cheap steel shelves. Bags of detergent and plastic bottles of cleaning solution fell on him. Marco fell to the floor, shrinking in on himself. He hugged his knees, whispering, 

“Please, please, please…”

\---

Eren walked down the empty corridor. He had thrown his blazer somewhere. It was too muggy for the damn thing anyway. His tie was gone as well. His shirt had been unbuttoned to reveal his tanned collarbones through his undershirt. He ran his hand through his hair. Paused to unwrap and stick a lollipop in his mouth. 

Yes, Eren Jäger was in no hurry. 

Afterall, once you turned down that last corridor, there was just one place to end up in. 

And sure enough, as he rounded the last corner, he saw Thomas attempting to kick down the door to the janitorial closet. Such anger. The boy would probably die of a stroke if he wasn’t careful. Eren stopped a safe distance from his rampaging… friend? Classmate? Acquaintance? It didn't matter. He leaned his hip against the wall. And watched. 

Thomas was just as undressed as him. His shirt sleeves flying as his body twisted in his attack on the door. It really was a terrible thing to be denied your prey after such a carefully planned chase. Eren knew Marco had started using the bathroom at the far end of the school. He tried to hold out, the poor boy, really he did. Eren had been looking forward to seeing him wet his pants. Seven hours really was a stretch for even the most resilient bladder. But then Marco had discovered the novel option of a bathroom reserved for the help. 

“Marco!” Thomas yelled, spit flying from his reddened face, “Open this door!” 

Each word was punctuated with a kick. These old, whole wood doors really were something. 

Thomas was screaming obscenities now. Eren wondered if Thomas would have been half as confident about the things he was shrieking, things he would do to Marco, things he had already done to Marco, if it weren’t for Eren. He was such a humanitarian. He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, licking it slowly. He wondered what he would get Thomas to do this time. He wondered how long the door would last. He wondered how long Marco would last. 

And then, over the sound Thomas’s rampaging, came another sound. The soft whirring of wheels. 

Eren ducked in through the open doors of the lab that took up most of the corridor. Concealing himself, he watched. 

\---

Marco watched as splinters flew. The latch had given way enough for a streak of light to penetrate the closet. It rested across his face, which was covered in tears and snot and blood. Marco sobbed, his body tightening around convulsions. 

It wouldn’t be long now. 

The banging stopped. The assault on the door stopped. Instead Marco could hear another voice. One he did not recognize. 

“What are you doing to my closet you shitty brat?” 

“None of your business, fuck off,” Thomas spat back. His voice, still too loud, made Marco flinch. 

“Just leave,” the other voice said, calm and soft, “I won't ask you what you were doing here. Just walk away.” 

“You telling me what to do? You fucking peon! Do you even know who I am?” 

“Look, it’s been a tough day,” the voice continued, still reasonable, “you feel like you need to take it out on someone, but - ” 

Whatever the man was saying was cut off by an abrupt slamming sound, that was followed by a loud crash of a dozen different things that bounced and rolled in to the distance. Thomas was grunting out expletives, promising punishment. Marco could make out the sounds of flesh hitting flesh… once, twice, thrice.

And then the other voice howled back. 

“Don't touch me!” 

It didn't sound calm and reasonable anymore. In the moment, to Marco, that voice, sounded exactly like his own. 

More things crashed. Something slammed in to a wall. Footsteps ran away. 

And then silence. Utter devastating silence. 

Marco whimpered. 

Someone knocked softly on the door. 

“Hey kid,” the voice was back, it was back to the way it had been, “you can come out now.” Marco sucked in his breath. “You don’t have to,” the voice continued, “but it’s safe now and I have a shitstorm to clean up out here.” 

The person outside moved away, picking up whatever had crashed and spilled. 

He looked up when Marco slowly stepped back outside. It was the janitor, the new one. The same one who had wordlessly led Marco to the custodial bathroom the day when holding it in had proved too much. This entire end of the hallway was covered with the remnants of the janitor’s cart. Dirty water was still spreading everywhere. The entire right side of his face was red and bruised, his lip was split. Thomas was left-handed. Marco didn't know what it meant to see an adult suffer the same fate as him. At the same hands. But there was a difference. Thomas wasn’t here anymore, was he? 

“Thank you,” Marco squeaked, “errr…” 

“Levi,” the man said. 

Levi straightened and walked past Marco in to the closet. He returned with a wet cloth and offered it to Marco.

“Don't worry, it’s clean,” he said and Marco took the cloth. He went back inside and returned this time with a metal cup. He offered it to Marco when he was done wiping his face. Again, Marco accepted what he was being given. It turned out to be tea. 

He sat in a corner, away from the spilled water, watching Levi clean the mess. 

The loud boom of Principal Brezenska’s voice over the intercom nearly made Marco spill his tea. 

“Levi Ackerman, report to the Principal’s office, right now!”

Levi sighed. 

“Didn't waste any time, did he?” he whispered. To Marco he said, “I have to go. Will you be alright, kid?” 

Marco nodded. 

Levi turned to leave. Marco scrambled up, realizing what was about to happen.

“Don't worry, kid,” Levi said, “I won't tell. I know how to keep secrets.”

And then he left. 

Marco watched him leave. If he wouldn’t tell, then they wouldn’t know. If they didn't know, then… 

Marco rushed from the corridor. Running again. He had to find someone. He had to tell. He had to. 

\---

Eren was still so stunned that he didn't even bother intercepting Marco as the freckled boy ran past his hiding place. That man… Thomas had been on top of him. Pounding down. Hard. No one got away when Thomas was on them like that. And for a moment it had looked like Thomas would leave the little cleaning fairy with permanent damage. But then... Something flipped…

“Don't touch me!” the janitor screamed.  
Eren would have made fun of the high and hysterical voice, except that the man proceeded to slam Thomas, who was easily twice his size, in to the wall. And then he rained hurt on him like Eren had never seen. 

His closing act was to grind the heel of his boot into Thomas’ face. 

The way his eyes had blazed… 

Eren crushed down on the lollipop, the candy turning to gravel in his mouth. 

Levi Ackerman. 

Yes, Levi Ackerman would do just fine. 

\---

“I have no choice but to fire you Levi.” 

Armin ignored the words and barged straight in. 

“Arlert? What the hell are you doing in here?” Rico barked at him. 

“Principal Brezenska, I would like a word.” 

“This is not a good time.” 

Rico stood palms flat over her massive ebony desk. Levi was close to the door, hands folded, gaze to the ground, right side of his face bruised and swelling. Wagner sat in front of the principal’s desk, blubbering, breaking the uniform code in a dozen different ways and… was that a boot-print on his face? 

“Principal Brezenska, this is urgent, I assure you. Please.” 

Armin then looked straight at her and gave her the sincere eyes that had gotten him out of trouble with his grandfather on a dozen different occasions. The moment she relented was palpable. 

“Outside.”

She started to move out from behind her desk. 

“Don't leave me here with him,” Thomas squealed, actually squealed. Armin suppressed a smile. The kid was a bully. And Armin hated bullies. 

“Get going then Wagner. See the nurse before you go home. I’ll speak to your father.” 

Thomas scurried past Armin, careful to not even look at Levi. Rico sighed. 

“Levi, is there really nothing you want to say?” 

Levi continued to stare at the ground. 

Armin touched Rico gently on the elbow, urging her. 

“Wait here,” she told Levi, “I’ll be back once I deal with Arlert.” 

She followed Armin out in to the waiting room. The young man at the reception was a nervous wreck, having failed in his solemn duty to keep Armin from intruding upon the principal. Rico rolled her eyes and told him to get her some tea. Then she rounded on Armin. He held up a hand, carefully shutting the door to the office before turning back to her. 

“Levi was protecting a student,” Armin said, “Thomas attacked him first.”

Rico narrowed her eyes. 

“How do you know this?” 

“The student came to me. Thomas had them trapped in the janitorial closet on the third floor. Levi intervened.” 

“Who is this student?” 

“I can't tell you.” 

“Arlert, as a teacher, you are obliged to report any incidents of this kind.” 

“That’s is what I am doing right now.”

“Not in the proper way, you’re not. If Wagner is terrorizing my students -”

“If?” Armin cut his superior off in disbelief. “If Wagner is terrorizing your students? Rico, come on, you know that kid has been a bully since day one.”

“No one has ever come forward to report anything.”

“Of course they haven’t. Thomas knows where they live. And outside this school, we can't protect them. Hell, we can't protect them inside the school!” Armin was getting agitated, so he forced himself to take a breath, “Levi stood up for someone who was being hurt. You saw his face. Clearly, Thomas got in a few before Levi retaliated.” 

“And that’s why he won't say anything? Because he’s still trying to protect this student?” 

“There’s clearly more going on between these kids than we know. Even with the cops here none of them has brought up anything against another student. And I know it’s not just Thomas. Most of the teachers do. We just don't say anything because nothing happens in front of us and the kids shut down whenever we ask them.” 

Rico slumped against the reception desk, which was twice as large as the monstrosity she worked behind.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I can’t be sure, but most likely since the start of the year. Since… since the new kids joined.” 

Rico took off her glasses and pressed her palm to her head. 

“What are we going to do?” 

For a moment, Armin saw, not the school leader he had been reporting to for the past two years, but a woman, a few years older, doing her best to help everyone within a system that favoured the few. He saw in her the embodiment of the strain the Equal Opportunities Act had placed on St Hildegard, despite it’s prestige and history, or perhaps because of it. He knew Rico worked to correct for imbalances, but she was fighting an invisible enemy. And suddenly, Armin saw with great lucidity what Levi had meant when he said that there were two schools. 

“You can't fire him Rico,” he said softly. 

“He kicked a student in the face, Armin. Not just any student. Christof Wagner’s son!” Rico’s hands flailed as she tried to drive home the significance of that. “That family paid for half this school. And Christof Wagner has opposed every programme I’ve tried to put in place to benefit the scholarship students. He blocked donations for their PE equipment. And the Board let him.” Rico was practically yelling now. 

“You can't fire him Rico.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? A student is missing. The kids seem to trust a janitor more than they trust me and no one will report what the fuck is actually going on!”

Something smashed to the ground. Rico and Armin both turned to see a white-faced receptionist with a puddle of tea at his feet and colouring half his designer trousers. 

“Go home Marlow,” Rico said in exasperation, “you’re done for the day.” 

Marlow to his credit, did not argue. He simply collected his jacket and bag and left the building. He seemed to take Rico’s steam with him. 

The two teachers stood in the empty waiting room. 

“Give me a day,” Armin blurted. 

“What?” 

“Don’t fire Levi yet, give me a day. Tell Wagner’s dad that you are investigating, that you have to follow procedure, the same bull-crap you pull when you need to delay budget meetings with the Drama Department.” Rico frowned. Armin didn’t care. “I’ll find a way for you to appropriately penalize Levi without having to take away his job. Just buy me a day.” 

“And what about this incident and the student you both refuse to name?”

“Well, we have the whole summer to figure that one out.” 

“Armin,” Rico’s voice went shockingly soft, “What if Thomas had something to do with Annie’s disappearance?” 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Armin said, though he didn't feel as certain as he sounded. 

“Okay,” Rico stood up straight, coming to some sort of a decision. “I’ll tell Levi to report back tomorrow at this time. You better have something for me Arlert.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Rico strode towards her office. Armin watched her pull open the door, saw Levi standing exactly how they had left him. Then he pulled out his phone and started to brisk-walk to the teacher’s lounge. 

Jean answered on the third ring.

“Armin, what is it? Everything alright?”

“Yes sweetie, everything is fine, but I need you to do two things for me.”

“Armin, I’m -”

“I know you are busy, but this is important.”

“Fine, what do you need?”

“First, I need you to text me your friend Yasmin’s number.”

“Yasmin?”

“Yes, the Middle Eastern woman we met for lunch last week? The one you went to the Academy with.”

“You mean Baz? Why do you need her number?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you. The second thing, I’m going to text you some names, I need you to access their phone records.” 

“Armin, you know I can’t do that without reason.”

“They are students at St Hildegard. And as Annie Leonhart’s teacher, I’m not just giving you reason, I’m giving you probable cause.” 

Jean went silent after that. When he spoke, his voice was strained. 

“Armin, are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I’ve realized a few things today and if that can help find Annie, I’m going to do what I can.” 

“Okay, text me the names.”

“Text me Baz’s number.” 

“Yes, right away.”

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Are you sure you’re alright Armin?” 

“Yes, I am sweetheart.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you at home. I love you too.” 

By the time Armin had packed his bag, Jean had sent him the number. He dialled it as he walked out of the school towards his cycle. The continuous ringing almost stole the wind from his sails. Then Yasmin ‘Baz’ Bakhash, former criminal profiler and current community counsellor, finally answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Yasmin… Baz! Thank God you answered.” 

“Armin?” 

“Yes, I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayee!! You made it! Thanks for reading, we really appreciate it!  
> Please leave questions, comments, suggestions or chocolate chip cookie recipes down below! Hit that Kudos button if you enjoyed this chapter and stay tuned for more~!
> 
> This is Hehnihere, signing off. Drink some water, people!


	5. Prayers & Pork Buns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jean,” Baz said, steadily, “look at me?”  
> Because he hadn’t, not for a second since he had come in. Jean stopped what he was doing, but he still didn't look at her.  
> “What do you think I am here to do?” Baz asked.  
> “Your job, I suppose,” Jean said with a shrug.  
> “And what do you think that is?”  
> “I don't know, to get the best deal for a bunch of shitstains who killed two children?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one took a lot longer to put up that we had intended. The world doesn't seem like a nice place at the moment. But I guess, that's why we continue to write. 
> 
> In this chapter, we finally meet Baz. Tell us what you think of her in the comments?
> 
> Additional Chapter Trigger Warnings:  
> Mentions of Lynching | Mentions of Honour Killings | Mentions of Suicide | Description of Violence | Mentions of communal violence and racial tensions  
> It's not too heavy, but please do read with caution.  
> And if you're having a bad day or a tough time dealing with the news, tell us about it in the comments. We want to listen. 
> 
> Explanations on the festivals, customs and cases mentioned at the end of the chapter.

The floor was fascinating.

  
The delicate vibrancy of turquoise, violet, green as they mosaiced into a story told on shimmering sangemarmar. The quiet coolness against her feet as her toes traced the almost imperceptible lines between tiles. The evening light playing hide and seek through the latticed arches, catching the water in the blue-tiled basin only to lose sight of it again.  
It was all endlessly fascinating.

  
“Baz! What are you doing? Yella!”

Baz turned to her cousin. Rayna was standing at the edge of the washing area, apparently having already finished her ablutions. She wore a hijab with a floral print over her a simple blouse and jeans. And from the annoyance on her face, Baz knew that they were already running late. She quickly rinsed her arms, three times, and ran to join her. Turquoise, purple and green blurred as they raced up the stairs to the gathering.

Women were technically not allowed in a mosque. Which is why this was not a mosque. Eden was a community centre. On the ground floor was a community kitchen. On the first a community library and reading room. And on the second a large open hall for community gatherings like the prayer circle they were having today. It was the eve of the first of Ramzan. Teta had brought together women of many different faiths to read and sing and share stories as they waited to sight the moon that would confirm the beginning of the holy month.

Hala Bakhash was a legend in Havenhearth. Hala was her given name, but everyone called her Teta, which simply meant grandmother in Arabic. Teta had come to the city just before the civil war broke out in Lebanon. Started a shawarma stand to raise funds to help her husband and two boys join her. And went on to establish a food empire in the growing city with two fine-dining restaurants as well as takeaways and fast-food joints in almost every Havenhearth neighbourhood. She had even managed to convince those mansion-dwellers at Red Oaks to welcome Middle Eastern cuisine, not to mention the additional rental revenue, with open arms.

Then five years ago, Teta had passed on the reins of her business to her oldest son and put all her energy and resources into building Eden. Eden was situated in Little Levant, a neighbourhood that sprang up almost overnight in Havenhearth. Little Levant was situated far from the city-centre, made-up mainly of immigrants in government housing. But Teta ensured that Eden, like it’s biblical namesake, was a place of beauty and rest that welcomed everyone. The tiles that so fascinated Baz were brought in on special order from Turkey. The library’s collection was one of the best in the city, even though people from Havenhearth proper barely ever bothered to thumb through its prized collection. The community kitchen catered to nearly fifty families and five hundred people in any given month, while providing livelihood and support to the women of Little Levant.

Rayna and Baz skid to a halt at the arched doorway that led to the gathering hall. The circle had already begun their meeting. The smell of fried zalabia and freshly brewed coffee filled the room. The women here were of all ages. Most sat on mats and cushions on the floor. Some sat in chairs. A couple stood near the windows. Some covered their heads with scarves, some leaned against the wall in formal tops, and some managed to sit cross-legged despite their short skirts. They all looked inwards and they were all part of the circle. Baz caught her grandmother’s eyes. At nearly 80 years, Teta had broad shoulders and a full head of white hair. She looked at her tardy granddaughters through lowered glasses, smiled and tilted her head to the space next to her. The younger women were quick to take their place.

Attention turned to a middle-aged woman in a hot-pink turban. She was resting on her knees, eyes closed. And slowly, in a voice that could calm storms, she began to recite the traditional prayer of the Sikhs.

Baz leaned in to Teta as the sonorous call flooded her with calm. Teta placed her arm around her, rubbing her back. It had been a tough few years. Baz still had trouble sleeping some days. She had given her all, reading every piece of research, going above and beyond on every case, shifting to the capital to make sure everyone knew her name. She became who she wanted to be in record time, only to find that’s not who she wanted to be anymore.

It was in moments like this though, Baz knew that moving back to Havenhearth had been the right choice.

The next person to sing was Kaylee. Baz knew her to be a quiet girl who had moved to Havenhearth for education. She had been an active member of the church back at home and was kind of lost in the city till she heard about Eden. Kaylee had a guitar with her and was strumming something real rhythmic. That was when Baz felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Normally, it was beyond rude to pull out a phone in the circle. But Baz knew people only called her when they needed her. And the people that needed her often had very few others to turn to. She pulled out the phone. The number was unknown, but that didn't mean it couldn’t be someone from the clinic. She squeezed Teta’s hand and tiptoed out of the circle. The phone was still buzzing by the time she walked to the corridor outside.

“Hello?”

“Yasmin… Baz! Thank God you answered.”

“Armin?”

“Yes, I need your help.”

\---

“So, will your school pay for this?”

Baz could have sounded a lot more professional without the pork bun she was trying to inhale. Her family had a rule about pork, if you ate it, you went to hell, no detours, no need to ask for directions, the flush was pressed and down you went. Baz’s workaround for this was, never to eat pork unless someone else was buying. During her Academy days, it was Jean, because he was a mamma’s boy whose mamma made a killer pork vindaloo and he was good at keeping secrets. Now apparently, the void was going to be filled by his house-husband, boyfriend, live-in partner - whatever the kids called it these days. The butternut squash deserved it for pulling her out of the feast that all the ladies were probably quaffing down at Eden.

On the plus side, at least she wasn’t eating pig during the holy month.

Baz picked another pork bun.

There was probably a special place in hell reserved for her.

“To be honest, I didn’t really think of that.”

“Quelle surprise,” Baz tried to say sarcastically, and it would have worked too if the meat didn’t get in the way.

They were both sitting on the footpath outside Woodlands Park, a pine-covered stretch of land that had miraculously been preserved in the middle of Havenhearth. It lay conveniently midway between both their residences downtown. Separating them were two orders of pork buns, another of lemon chicken skewers, button mushrooms with a mustard dip, sweet potato fritters and refillable cups of ginger-cherry iced-tea.

A girl has needs after all.

Fairy lights and lanterns lit the whole walkway. The crowd around the food-trucks and homemade delicacy stalls was beginning to thicken, the lazy Friday before summer vacations began, taking everyone in to its sweet embrace.

Armin chewed a sweet potato fritter thoughtfully.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” he said, “Rico’s desperate. This situation’s gotten out of hand pretty quickly.”

“It’s probably been getting out of hand for a while. You’ve only just noticed it.” Baz sipped her ginger-cherry. “Adults often live in a state of semi-permanent denial. Keeps them functional.”

“Do you think you can help though?”

Baz sipped some more ginger-cherry. “What exactly do you expect from me?”

“Jean told me about the first case you worked,” Armin said.

Baz watched the pines sway over the walls of the park. There was a lovely cool breeze. A perfect summer night.

The defence’s strategy was to present this as a cultural crime. If successful, it would lead to a lower sentence. Yasmin Bakhash, consulting detective, understood why that was necessary. But Baz, the young woman who had grown up in and loved Havenhearth, saw that it would paint her entire community as a bunch of monsters who ate their children alive. That it would undermine everything people like her grandmother worked so hard to achieve. Already the restaurants Teta ran had seen a fall in business as details of the crime made their way to the media.

It was good defence though.

“Hey Jean,” Baz said with a small smile, “Or should it be Officer Kirschtein?”

“Hey Baz,” Jean took a seat across the table from her, putting his beret and files down next to him. “Long time.”

It had been nearly two years since they had properly met. Jean had graduated and gone straight in to uniform. Baz had applied for an extension and gone to do her Master’s in Forensic Psychology. As a result, she had come back to the legal system as a Consulting Detective, assisting in the tying up of criminal cases in court rather than solving them on the streets like Jean did.

They had been best friends. And now they were what… two people in a cramped cubicle trying their best to reconnect over stale coffee and crime reports?

“Do you want me to run you through the case reports?” Jean asked, already rifling through the dozen different documents he had brought along, “Or is there something specific that you want to start with?”

Jean had been first on the scene. Technically, he should have been the first person she spoke to. But Baz had chosen not to speak to him until now. She watched his hands unnecessarily flick through his own reports.

“Jean,” Baz said, steadily, “look at me?”

Because he hadn’t, not for a second since he had come in. Jean stopped what he was doing, but he still didn't look at her.

“What do you think I am here to do?” Baz asked.

“Your job, I suppose,” Jean said with a shrug.

“And what do you think that is?”

“I don't know, to get the best deal for a bunch of shitstains who killed two children?”

Baz sighed. She should be angry. She had been angry all this week. At everyone who looked at her sideways. At everyone who saw her as the bad guy. At every single witness, officer and case-worker involved in the investigation. At the mob that had broken the windows of a falafel joint on Main Street and then urinated on the freshly cut vegetables.

But at the moment, she just felt sad. And tired. And lonely.

His mother used to make pork vindaloo for her when she visited. They used to smoke pot together on the roof of his little house in the suburbs. He used to volunteer with her at Teta’s soup kitchen every break.

It had been two years. A lot had changed. And now Jean didn't even want to look at her. It broke her heart.

“I’m going to get some more coffee,” she said. And got up and walked out of the police headquarters.

By the time Jean found her, at least two hours had passed. She was sitting on top of her car. Rain poured down. Another summer shower. There was a harsh northerly wind. The tree swayed in the empty field. A single stretch of police tape fluttered helplessly.

“Hey,” he said, getting out of the squad car.

It was Baz’s turn not to look at him. She continued to stare at the tree. Jean stayed by his car.

“Do you think they knew?”

“The post-mortem report said both girls were beaten heavily. They were most likely unconscious.”

“I meant, did they know the consequences? Did they know that a simple kiss would end in them strung up on this tree? Did they know what their family’s honour would cost them?”

Jean didn't say anything. The tree swayed. Baz watched the tree. He watched Baz. The rain poured over them all.

“Hey Jean,” Baz turned to him and for the first time in two years, their eyes met. “Do you think all my people are monsters?”

Jean’s first instinct was to scoff and remind Baz that the monsters who did this were not her people. That she was born and raised in Havenhearth, while they…

That’s where his thoughts froze.

So instead of replying, he just rushed forward and wrapped Baz in his arms.

Just like he used to back when they were still learning what it meant to be guardians of the law.

Baz stayed in his arms for a long time that night.

In the morning, they returned to the police headquarters and finished the meeting they had skipped the day before. Baz filed her final recommendations and report on the case later that week. She had gone way beyond the scope of the case. They’d definitely ignore most of it. But she said what she needed to say nonetheless.

“He said your report led to the conviction of nearly thirty people. Instead of just the four they decided to charge initially.”

“Twenty-six. The community played a role in the way those parents behaved, in what they did. Justice should mean more than just slapping the hand that held the knife.” She paused, staring at the mushroom in her hand in deeper contemplation than it deserved. “But it’s never as simple. That conviction led to a year of communal and racial tensions in the city.”

And possibly prompted Teta’s retirement. And her own move to the Capital. Baz stopped studying the mushroom and put it in her mouth.

“There was no violence though,” Armin said. This had been before he had moved to the city, nearly a year before he even met Jean. But Jean spoke of that time a lot.

“Mostly no violence,” Baz responded.

“But even that was resolved, right?”

“Eventually. People run out of steam. They get back to life.”

“You’re saying that the city finally implementing the programmes you recommended had nothing to do with it?”

Baz shrugged. She offered the mustard dip to Armin, who liberally lathered his fritter with it.

“I was just doing my job,” she said.

“Well then, I guess that’s what I expect of you.”

Baz turned to Armin, raising her eyebrow. Armin held her gaze.

“You’re a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?” she said, though she was trying to use her last mushroom to scoop out the last of the dip, so there was really no bite to it.

Armin chuckled, like it was a compliment.

Baz took her time with that last mushroom, chasing it with some ginger-cherry.

“Fine,” she said after the food was gone, “Give me a few days to think up a plan for your school.”

“Didn’t you attend St Hildegard as well?” Armin asked.

“Yep,” Baz replied, “And it wasn’t my school then and it sure isn’t my school now. I may need to talk to some of the students, maybe even the teachers. Parents, if we can get them.”

“I don't know how we’d be able to swing that,” Armin started.

“We’ll figure something out. But about the other problem of yours. Look man, I am not a therapist, I just barely got my counsellor’s certificate. I don’t know what I can do for your janitor man.”

“His name is Levi.”

“And it’s a beautiful name. My point is, if Levi doesn’t want to talk, I don’t know what I can do.”

Armin leaned back on his arms, looking up at the sky. He smiled sweetly, at nothing.

“When I was in Year 9 back in Ipswich,” he began, “there was this boy in my class, Bertholdt. He was German, tall as a bloody beanpole. He was shy, barely spoke, but he had an accent. It was the cutest thing.”

“So you have a kink for tall, European guys. How original.”

“I caught up with him one day after school, it was fucking Valentine’s Day and I wanted to give him a card I’d spent all night making. But when I tapped him on the back to get his attention, he froze, like a chicken before a cleaver. I remember the look in his eyes, like he expected me, a pint-sized fairy to beat him up or something.” Armin smiled up at the sky. “That was the last time I ever saw Bertholdt. He killed himself that weekend.” Armin shook his head, blinking quickly. “No one knew,” he whispered.

He looked back to Baz to find her staring at him. “I never did get to give him that card.”

A few breaths passed between them. Then Baz rolled her eyes and looked away.

“I want to respect the memory of your friend,” she said, “and the fact that you felt comfortable sharing this with me, but I can feel the emotional manipulation coming at me like a fucking freight train.”

Armin smiled sweetly again.

“It’s not a manipulation. That look in Bertholdt’s eyes that day. I see the same look in Levi’s eyes.” Armin stopped and considered his words. “Okay, maybe it was a small manipulation. The point is, I know that man needs help.”

“And I repeat, no one can be helped if they don't want to be.”

“Well, right now, all we need is a cover to keep him from losing his job.”

Baz looked at Armin and then back at the trees, still swaying in the evening breeze.

“Ten sessions, every Friday, starting next week. I’ll send you an email to flash in Rico’s face. And you’re buying me pork buns for the rest of your life.”

“Deal!”

“Now let’s get some more food and pay that overworked boyfriend of yours a surprise visit.”

They both stood, dusting themselves off. Armin looked at the food-trucks and then the crowds hovering around them.

“What should we get him?”

“Pork buns, we’re getting him pork buns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed our girl's entry. We've been waiting to showcase her and hope you enjoy the role she will play in the story. 
> 
> Yella: Arabic for Hurry  
> Sangemarmar: Marble, the same thing the Taj Mahal is made of  
> Zalabia: Lebanese version of an Indian sweet called jalebi: https://hadiaslebanesecuisine.com/newsite/recipe-items/zalabia-lebanese-sweet-fritters/  
> The song the Sikh lady in the hot pink turban sings is called Ik Onkar. Though Bollywood-ized, this is literally the best version of it that I have heard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxZcgPHWxt0
> 
> The first part of this chapter was originally supposed to go up with the last one, on the day of Eid-ul-Fitr. For those of you who may not know this, Eid is a major Muslim festival and marks the end of a month of fasting called Ramzan. You can read more details about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_al-Fitr. 
> 
> Celebrating Eid in the lockdown was different. We had heavy police presence on the streets because they didn't want Muslims to use the festival as an excuse to gather. I managed to see my mum for barely 10 mins and we didn't hug. But she made biryani for all of us. Ramzan is usually a month-long celebration, prayers at dawn, foodstalls all over the city in the evening, new clothes, Henna designs on the hands. We got to do none of that this time. So placing this chapter and the next few within Ramzan and talking about the traditions is my way of making up for it, I suppose. 
> 
> Also, about honour killings, I request you to read this paper about them: https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/82784.pdf  
> And if there is anything you'd like to discuss with us, please do write it in the comments.


	6. Interlude: Kaibutsu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER WARNINGS*  
> Obscene descriptions of the female body (obscenity in general) | Smoking (Not encouraged by creators, whatsoever)

It was a dark and stormy night. 

He watched the young woman. Passed out on the bed he had rented for the night. He went through his options like the professional he was. 

He could just leave. 

She wasn’t his type. Too old. Hair too long. Brown eyes.

But the hunger had been gnawing at him. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t sleep. It was breaking his routine. And that was not something a man like him could allow. So he had waited for the weekend and gone out to do what he did best. 

But the bars were not as crowded as they had been a few months ago. The younger men and women tended to stay in their groups. He had even come across a couple of smaller women who were literally surrounded by a group of friends. Like they were something to be protected, something to be cherished. He’d agree with the sentiment if it didn’t make things so inconvenient for him. 

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling their neatness before he obsessively started to straighten them again. He forced himself to stop. 

He looked at the woman again. Her breasts were spilling out of her shirt, nipples pert in the cold night air. Her skirt was still hiked up, underwear wedged so tightly that it might have been uncomfortable had she been conscious enough to feel it. She had already been deep in her drinks when he had approached her. She had claimed to have come with someone but after fifteen minutes of chatting with her, no one showed up to claim her back and she had more than willingly agreed to come along with him for a drive to clear her head. 

He could just carry the task through. 

Sure, he may not enjoy it as much, but he had come this far. It wouldn’t be right to simply abandon things. He could take her back to his place. Go through the motions. And then return to the ways things had been. But… 

Her hair was wrong. Her eyes were wrong. Her skin was wrong. 

She was wrong. 

She was not who he was looking for. That is why he had ended up bringing her to this cheap hotel instead of taking her straight home. 

In that moment, he realized just how badly he had screwed up. How many people had seen him take her out of the bar? Would the old man at the reception remember his face? Had he even checked if the place had security cameras?

Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy! 

The hunger was making him sloppy. This would not do, this would just not do. 

He opened his briefcase and pulled out several packs of medical wipes. He wiped down every surface in the room. He even wiped down the bathroom, even though he had not used it. He wiped down the woman’s body from top to bottom, even though he had barely touched it. He pulled the bedsheet and pillow covers out from under her. He wrapped them up with the waste wipes and put everything back in the brief-case. 

Then he turned around and left the room without looking back at the woman. 

The man at the reception was leaning back in his chair, mouth open, snoring loudly. He walked past him, silent, quick. He made his way to the nondescript sedan he kept for nights like this and flung his briefcase in to the back. He got in the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel till his knuckles turned white. Then he released a breath, put his car in to gear and began to drive. 

Just as he was about to turn on to the street, he saw a thin, dark-haired man huddled under the street-light, cupping his hands to light a cigarette. He pulled over and rolled his windows down. 

“Hey,” he said to the young man, “could I borrow a smoke?”

\---

The next morning, Nifa Solinos, woke up half-naked in an unmade bed, in a room that smelled faintly of disinfectant. She had a raging headache and very few memories of how she had got here. She realized this was probably a hotel room. Which made certain things about the night before clearer. 

Whatever, it wasn’t the first time she had signed up for a one-night stand where she woke up alone. 

So Nifa simply yanked her underwear off, undid her shirt and went back to sleep. 

She’d pay for the room whenever she decided to leave. It wasn’t like she couldn’t afford it. 

\---

At around the same time, Luke Siss was being reported missing by his roommates. He was a college-student who had been pulling an all-nighter for his last exam of the semester. He had stepped out for a midnight smoke and never returned.


	7. Busses & Burgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell do you think you are doing woman?” the father of the snivelling boy spat at her. 
> 
> “Lower your voice, address me as Chief Azumabito, or simply Chief, and sit down Christof.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Description of Illegal Activities | Mentions of Child Pornography | Mentions of possible Child Sexual Assault | Mentions of Honour Killings  
> Its not too heavy, but please proceed with caution!
> 
> Hello everyone~! This is Hehnihere. Sorry for not posting last week, but I hope the double update makes up for it! Huge thanks to Yojana for beta-reading this and previous chapters and giving us much required helpful advice.

Given that the world didn't end in 2012, someone really should have solved the problem of public transport. 

Levi stepped back in to the shelter of the old bus stop, shrinking further against the corrugated walls, doing his best to avoid the people who brushed past him like he didn't exist.

This was the second bus that had passed him by. The second he had been unable to enter. It wasn’t like he had a problem with busses. He took one every morning to get to St Hildegard’s. At 5:30 am. He sat right in front, in the single seat behind the driver. It took forty-five minutes to make it to downtown. And then another half an hour to walk uphill to Red Oaks. And then at 4 pm, he made the journey downhill and caught another bus back. It usually had more people than the morning route, but most of the time he could still get his seat behind the driver. This past week, since school was out, he got to go home by 2-2:30. There were very few people in the bus then. Busses weren’t the problem. 

Today, he had barely had time to get home, shower, change, eat lunch before he had to leave again. 

It had been a week since the incident with the Wagner brat. The brat who was probably lounging in his air-conditioned palace on the top of Red Oaks while servants fed him watermelon and grapes. While Levi was, well, here. Waiting for the first of two bus changes that would take him to Little Levant for his first mandatory counselling session with, what was her name again? Bakhsh? Baccash? Bollocks? 

“Levi, just give this a chance,” Armin said. 

They were standing in Rico’s office, with the principal fuming on one side of the room while Armin spoke to Levi in a calming voice on the other. 

“Go for the first session next Friday. If you really do hate it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Why?” 

“Because you’ll lose your job otherwise. And if you do try to get another, they’ll probably contact St Hildegard for a referral. What do you think Rico will tell them?”

“Why does it matter to you,” Levi persisted, “whether I lose this job or never get another?”

“Well, I think you’re a good guy and -”

“You don't know anything about me!” 

“Maybe after this, you can come home for dinner sometime and I can find out.”

Another hoard launched itself on to the latest bus. He stayed where he was. Offices had just let out. The bars were just opening up. The mosque hidden in the backstreets of Downtown Havenhearth had just released crowds of adherents in to the early evening. And the fair outside Woodlands Park was just starting to buzz. People kept crawling to and from the bus depot. He wondered where they were heading. Probably somewhere where they were wanted, or where they wanted to be - seizing opportunities, chasing ambitions, taking chances. 

And what was he doing? 

Waiting for a bus he didn't want to take to make an appointment he didn't sign up for in order to keep a job that would lead him nowhere. 

And summer had finally decided to make an appearance after all the rain last week. It was hot. It was muggy. Levi felt feverish inside his hoodie. It was second-hand, larger than him, dark and slightly frayed. He pulled at the cuffs, swallowing against the heat and folded his arms around himself. 

A bus stopped in front of him with a hiss and gust of heated, foul-smelling air. People got off. No one got on. Levi waited for a few seconds and then climbed in. Taking the seat right behind the driver. Except the driver seemed to have gotten off as well. 

Levi sat in the sweltering heat for fifteen minutes before he concluded that this bus was not going anywhere. 

\---

“Please, she won’t stop crying!”

“Jest… You wait, here.”

“I’ve been waiting for an hour! Why can’t you let me see Dr Hanji?”

“Doctor is busy.”

“But she won’t stop crying!”

The conversation continued on loop. The teenager kept bouncing the bawling baby, too exhausted to make her case. The young woman behind the receptionist counter spoke with a nasal accent, all clipped ‘r’s and ‘z’s. Her attention was divided between the young mother in front of her, the coughing old man to the side and the older woman at the back of the room who was struggling with a lighter. 

“Please, please,” she yelled, “Bez papierosa! I mean… err... no smoke in here!” 

The older woman made a face and walked out. 

Two people with very heavy make-up were talking loudly and laughing in a corner. A man with bloodshot eyes sprawled on a seat by an incongruously cheerful philodendron he may or may not be contemplating throwing up in. A few more people in various stages of unease sat or stood where they could. Between them all, three children, of indeterminate gender and parentage, were having some kind of save-the-world battle. 

“Connie? Connie!” Reception Girl yelled again, frantic. 

A short man with large eyes and a buzz cut bumped in to Levi, then nearly tripped over one of the fake-sword wielding tykes as he ran to her rescue. Reception girl looked from him to the children to the desperate mother. Connie looked from her to the room to his hands. 

The baby wouldn’t stop crying.  
The old man wouldn’t stop coughing.  
Laughing. Talking. Screaming.  
Screaming. Screaming.  
Panting. Grunting.  
Chains. Chains rattling. 

“Levi?” A voice called him. “Hey? Are you Levi?” 

He opened eyes he didn't remember shutting. A stranger was standing in front of him, blocking his view of the clinic’s interior. 

“Are you Levi?” she asked again. Her voice was muffled. Probably because he had his wrists pressed against his ears. He trained his eyes to the floor. And nodded. 

“Wait here, okay?” she said, somehow guiding him to the wall behind the large pine without touching him. She went back inside. Levi waited. The noise subsided a little. Then stopped. Three kids ran outside with a ball they hadn't had before, followed closely by Connie, who stopped them before they frolicked right out the compound gate. 

The woman returned. 

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Baz. Would you like to come in?”

She walked ahead of him. He followed. 

The teenager and the crying baby had disappeared. As had the man with the bloodshot eyes. The philodendron still looked cheerful. The people in make-up were talking in softer voices now and Reception Girl was administering some kind of syrup to the old man, whose coughing seemed to be easing off. 

“Sasha?” the woman leading him called out. Reception Girl looked up at her. “This is Levi. Just make an entry with the name. He’ll fill out the details next time.” 

Sasha nodded and returned her attention to the old man. 

Baz led him past the reception area, down a short passage and through a thick wooden door. The room within was cool with soft lights and a smoky, sweet smell. There was a large desk at the far end, next to the windows. A bookshelf by one wall. A couch by the other. A patterned rug with a dark-wood coffee table in the centre. To the left of the door they had entered through was another, closed. And to the right was a kitchenette in a windowed alcove. All of the furniture looked too refined to belong in a place like this. But it seemed to match the woman who was with him. She had thick brows, large eyes and a sharp nose. She was maybe a head taller than him, wearing a hunter green kaftan that reached her knees. Levi noted that her feet were bare. 

He sat at the edge of the chair closest to the door when she asked him to get comfortable, expecting her to move to the other side of the desk and get down to… whatever this was supposed to be. 

But she moved to the kitchenette. Levi sat at the desk. Quiet. Eyes lowered.

My name is Levi.  
This is Havenhearth.  
I live in South Side.  
I work at St Hildegard.  
Last night I ate oatmeal for dinner.  
This morning I ate oatmeal for breakfast. 

A gentle clink broke through his mental litany of irrelevant facts. 

The tea-cup before him looked like a miniature goblet, made of glass with a chased metal base. It had no handle. The tea was dark, steaming with fresh mint leaves. There was a bowl-like saucer under the cup. On it was a large date. 

“Our appointment was for 5 pm,” Baz began, “but if this time is more convenient, I’m happy to reschedule.”

The date was achingly sweet. 

“It gets quieter by this time anyway. I mean, today was an exception. Hanji got delayed at the hospital. And our two volunteers called in sick. But things are not as messy usually.” 

The tea was strong and bitter. 

“Hanji is a physician, she handles the medical check-ups and dispensary here. In the evenings, of course. In the day she practices at City General. My older brother heads the Trauma Centre there. He comes here now and then, when he has the time.” 

The desk was made of light, polished wood.  
There was a laptop, a notebook and several files on it.  
A ceramic jar with three ink pens in it. 

“Sasha sits at reception. She is Polish and makes the best breaded cutlets in the world. Connie is a do-whatever-he-is-asked-to sort of person. His mum volunteers here in the mornings. He comes in after college.”

There were plants on the window sill. Basil. Periwinkle. And calendula? 

“Levi?” 

Why did she keep calling his name? He was here, wasn’t he? What more did she want from him?

He looked up. She looked at him and frowned. 

“Do you know why you are here?”

He nodded his head. 

“Do you… want to be here?”

He shrugged. 

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

He’d like to throw this Arabian Nights tea-cup against the wall. Was that an option here? 

He kept quiet. And waited. 

“Okay,” Baz said, after what was surely an adequately indecent amount of silence. “I can understand that you don’t want to talk. You don’t have to.” 

There it was. 

Levi stood up as soon as he heard those words. But before he could turn to the door, Baz spoke again. 

“Armin has no reason to care about you,” she said. “He may be a manipulative little shit, but he fought for you. Because he thinks you deserve better. I can’t stop you from leaving, but you might want to think about that before you do.” 

The floor was tiled with stone. It looked old. Older than the walls. 

Levi sat back down. 

“The session’s an hour. You can get more tea from the kitchenette if you want to. I’ll be right here,” she opened her laptop, pulling it to herself, “Catching up on some paperwork.”

With that Baz turned her attention to the screen. 

Levi waited for something more. When it didn't happen, he spoke, for what was probably the first time today.

“What about,” he had to clear his throat, “the report you have to submit?” 

“What about it?” Baz asked, glancing at him briefly. 

Levi pursed his lips. 

Baz opened her notebook and grabbed one of the ink pens. She started writing. 

Levi leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs and his arms. 

“What if I go out there and beat up some other kid?” he asked. 

“That would make you a horrible human being,” Baz responded without looking up from whatever she was writing. 

He kept quiet and sat still after that. Baz continued to make notes and scroll through things he could not see.

When the hour was up, he got up and left. 

\---

Kiyomi Azumabito, Chief of Police, Havenhearth Police Department. Kenjutsu Master. Lover of fine wines and convoluted bureaucracy. Mother of three, grandmother of one and aunt of a rising start in the pastry world. Oh and, daughter of an ex-underboss of the Inagawa-kai. Allegedly. 

Well, her father was now nearly ninety and living with Parkinson’s. So no one was going to believe that particular rumour. 

“I want to go home.”

“You’re not going home, Thomas.” 

“I told you those pictures aren’t mine.” 

“How did they get on your phone?” 

“I told you Eren put them there. I told him not to!”

“What exactly did you tell him?”

Azumabito savoured a sip of her favourite green tea. On the screen before her, Thomas Wagner wailed pathetically. On the table in front of the boy was a growing pile of used tissue and the remains of a SpiceMaster meal from Maharaja burgers. Next to him sat a Child Welfare Officer who looked like she would very much like to go home. And across him sat Detective Jean Kirchstein. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up, wearing a sympathetic expression that hadn’t wavered for the past three hours. 

Her father used to say that men only stopped being teenagers in their thirties. That is why he had forbidden her marriage until her fiance’s thirtieth birthday. She had been thirty-six and already the mother of a young girl by then. But who was counting. Jean Kirchstein reminded her a lot of her dead husband. A hot-headed mess who displayed little acumen and too much arrogance. Easy to manipulate and easier to control. And as with her husband, Azumabito had apparently erred in her judgment of the detective as well. 

Fresh out of the Academy, Kirchstein had seemed like yet another boy in a man’s body. He had no pedigree for law enforcement. To her, he was someone who wanted a uniform just so he could play hero and impress the girls. She was well-aware how officers like Jean Kirchstein ended up. But she still couldn’t stop watching him. How he strutted about the station, fists first in to any sticky situation. How he took the most difficult turf without hesitation and managed to make friends in the hairiest neighbourhoods. 

And then those two poor girls had been killed and strung up from a tree. The incident had shaken Havenhearth to its core. And over the course of that case, Kirchstein had gone from being a slightly above average cop to being an officer of the law. 

Thomas was trying to work his sniffling charm on the Child Welfare Officer now. Too bad for her that the student was just two months shy of his eighteenth birthday. 

Azumabito took another sip of her green tea. She was pleased with her choice of Jean Kirchstein as lead detective for this one. The fact that his little boyfriend taught at Annie Leonhart’s school had nothing to do with it. Even if he had given them their first usable lead in the case. 

The Police Chief smiled to herself, sipping more green tea. She switched the screen off and spoke in to the intercom. 

“Send Mr Wagner and his lawyer in.”

She had barely finished the statement when Christof Wagner and his equally irate lawyer barged in through the doors. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing woman?” the father of the snivelling boy spat at her. 

“Lower your voice, address me as Chief Azumabito, or simply Chief, and sit down Christof.” 

“Chief Azumabito,” the lawyer began and was interrupted.

“You too, sit down.” 

Both men took seats from across her with extreme distaste. Azumabito smiled and sipped her tea. 

“Chief Azumabito,” the lawyer began again only to be interrupted again. 

“Who are you?”

“Philip Richter, Triumphus Law, we represent Mr Wagner’s business and personal affairs.”

The youngish lawyer held out a card for her with all the smugness of his profession and position. Azumabito sipped her tea. 

“Why was my son brought in for questioning without informing me?”

“We did try to call you, but your phone was out of reach.” 

“You -” Wagner’s lawyer placed a restraining hand on the older man, “Release him now.”

“No.”

“You have no right to -”

“We can hold him for up to twenty-four hours.”  
Wagner looked to his pristine lawyer for confirmation. Unfortunately for the young man, he didn't look like he was sure of his answer. 

“He’s a minor,” Richter informed her uncertainly. 

“A Child Welfare Officer is present with him.”

“But why is he here damn it!”

Azumabito pressed down on the intercom. 

“Sheena? Could you be a dear and get me some more green tea?” She waited for her assistant’s response before returning her gaze to Wagner. “What was your question again?” 

The man forced words out through gritted teeth. 

“Why is my son in police custody?”

“We have evidence to suggest Thomas Wagner could be involved in the disappearance of Annie Leonhart.” 

“You little -”

It was the lawyer’s turn to interrupt now. 

“What evidence?” he asked. 

Azumabito pulled a stack of stapled print-outs from under a paper-weight and offered them to the lawyer. They were promptly snatched out of the younger man’s hands by Wagner. 

“What is this nonsense?” he sneered, riffling through the pages without actually reading anything on them. 

“Those are copies of an Instagram chat group called Hildy’s Bitches. They include highly sexist posts and racist comments about students at St Hildegard. There is even a rating system about “assets” and “skills”. Of course, I haven’t included the obscene images and videos shared, because that would constitute distributing child pornography.” 

Wagner tossed the papers on to the desk. His lawyer grabbed them instead. 

“What does this have to do with my son?” 

“Thomas Wagner runs the chat.”

“So what? Thomas is young. Boys -”

“Will be boys?” Azumabito looked Wagner straight in the eyes. He didn’t even bother to hold her gaze. 

Sheena brought in another cup of green tea. Chief Azumabito sipped it, sighed in satisfaction and leaned back in her seat. 

“We asked Instagram to preserve the data from Thomas’ and four other accounts last week. They pointed us to the group chat. There wasn’t much happening on it, school is shut after all. But we had enough to call some of the kids in for questioning. One of them voluntarily gave us his phone. Luckily, for us, the boy hadn’t bothered to delete anything. So now we have photos of pornographic photos of underage girls and boys and obscene chats dating back almost to the start of the school year. A lot of these were sent by Thomas Wagner. Some of them look like they were forcibly taken. And most interestingly, we have videos, live streams of Annie Leonhart. That were clearly taken without her consent. So yesterday, while you were at the golf club Christof, we did a thorough search of Annie’s room. We had a court order, of course, but turns out we didn't need it since Mr Leonhart kindly let us in and allowed us to ransack the space. We found spy cameras hidden in her bathroom and sleeping area.”

“I want to see my son,” Christof Wagner stood up, attempting to tower over the Chief of Police. 

Azumabito smiled. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to meet Thomas, Mr Wagner.” Richter stood too, yet again, placing a hand on the older man’s arm. 

“What the hell do you -”

“Have you charged him yet?”

“No.”

“I would like to talk to my client.”

“Of course. I will have Sheena take you to him.”

Azumabito relayed the instructions over the intercom as Richter dragged Wagner out of her office. 

_Well Kirschstein, I gave you three hours. You better have gotten something we can use._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konnichiwa, badassunicornakahina desu!
> 
> Research for this chapter meant reading up a lot about the laws governing police detention, especially of minors. The information presented here is a combination of laws from various countries as well as my own. I understand that right now, a lot of the sentiment is against the police, given what is happening in the US. And reading up on these laws didn't make the situation easier to understand. Yojana pointed out that a lot of interrogation and detention techniques depend on the exploitation of positional power. I am just putting this note here to let you know that as writers, we are paying attention and hope that we can deal with depiction of police methods in our writing sensitively and responsibly. 
> 
> What do you think about the way the police has been written in this chapter? Please do write in if you think there is something you’d like to draw our attention to. 
> 
> Also, the Instagram Chat described in the chapter was based on the Bois Locker Room scandal that broke in India last month. Here is a link describing the case and the police action taken: https://zeenews.india.com/india/bois-locker-room-26-students-grilled-so-far-girl-masterminded-gangrape-chat-heres-what-we-know-about-the-scandal-2282709.html
> 
> Also, look up the Inagawa-kai if you have the time. It’ll be interesting, I promise.


	8. Crusts & Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am Superintendent Pieck Finger. Please follow me upstairs, I’m afraid I may have some bad news for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ Hehnihere is back! I hope you've all been well. Here's an early update. Enjoy! See you at the end of the chapter again~!

“Did you pack your toothbrush?”

“Yes.”

“Did you pack your lenses?”

“I’ll be wearing my lenses.” 

“Right of course. Did you pack your underwear?”

“Yes, Armin! I clearly didn't forget to pack underwear!”

“How many?”

“What?” 

“How many pairs of underwear have you packed?” 

“Two?”

“I’m going to pack two more.” 

Jean walked out of the bathroom. He had a razor in one hand and foam spread across half his face. He was wearing a pair of tropical print boxers that rode low on his hips. 

“Armin, I am going to Trost for two nights, why would I need four pairs of underwear?” he said. 

Armin ran his eyes down from Jean’s face to his bare chest to his flat stomach. Then lower still. Stopping to contemplate those green and blue boxers. Or perhaps what was underneath them. 

“You never know,” Armin said mysteriously. He licked his lips, still fixated on the... boxers. 

Jean waited for a more substantial explanation. When none seemed forthcoming, he shook his head and returned back to the mirror. 

“I don't understand you sometimes,” he grumbled from within. 

“Just be thankful that I still like you,” Armin grumbled back. 

“What?”

\---

It was early. The kind of early, sane people should not do. 

But Baz had foolishly accepted the responsibility of helping at the community kitchen for the pre-dawn sehri meal for the rozgars. She supposed it was the guilt left over from all the time she had ignored her family over the past five years. And this fine morning, she had further compounded that mistake by gulping down a lot of kawha while trying her best not to over-grill the halloumi. 

So now, she was back in her apartment, relentlessly surfing the internet while simultaneously being too tired and too wide-awake to make sense of existence. The sheets of paper that she had been using to sketch out some kind of plan for Armin’s school mocked her from the edge of her dining table. She pushed her laptop to the side and pulled the sheets towards her instead. She had put down a lot of points on it, colour-coded for easy reference, but the most productive thing about the mess was the abstract jellyfish she had made on the right-hand bottom of one of the sheets. 

She wailed at the unfairness of the situation. 

Maybe she should pin the jellyfish up on her fridge. 

As she considered that particular move, a word on the sheet caught her eyes - Trost. 

That’s right, that Insta chat Jean’s team had uncovered. There were some kids from Trost on it too. What was the connection there? The families in Havenhearth had clammed up ever since the police started questioning them - kids who had participated in the chat, those whose pictures and videos had been shared and all those in between. Baz couldn’t get close to anyone who studied at the damn school currently. So she had zero insight on the problem. She had tried to get in touch with some of the alumni, but all this time being dead on the Old Girls n Boys network, that particular task was proving to be... annoying, to say the least. But the kids in Trost, they were still unknowns, weren’t they?

Wait, wasn’t Jean driving down to Trost today to interview them? 

And before her brain had finished processing the connections, her hand was already flying to her phone. Good thing he was one of her most dialled numbers. 

“Jean!”

“Baz, what’s up?”

“Have you left yet?” 

“Just about to.”

“Don’t. I mean, just wait. I’ll be there in 15 mins.” 

“What? Why?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Baz, I-”

“I’m coming with you. Just. Wait.”

She had already begun throwing things into her travel bag as she dialled the next number. The person on the other end answered after exactly two rings. 

“Yasmin, it’s been a while.”

“Kiyomi, I need a favour.” 

Five minutes later, Baz was in a cab being rushed across Downtown to Jean’s apartment complex. She pulled up the newsfeed for Trost on her phone. The first page of headlines made her jaw drop. How had she missed this? 

Five more minutes and her cab pulled up next to Jean’s car. He was leaning against the hood, arms folded, waiting for her. Baz handed the driver her fare and jumped out without waiting for the change. Jean was wearing a white button-down and formal black trousers, with a tie and polished shoes to boot. She was in her grey and pink hoodie and tracks, with a t-shirt that read Kawaii. 

Jean looked her up and down, shook his head, smiled and said. 

“Welcome back Detective Bakhash.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Now get in the car before we get fucked by rush-hour traffic.” 

\--- 

They said that peaceful towns grew up in the shadows bustling cities. For Havenhearth, that shadow was cast by Trost. Three hours away by road, Trost was the most populous city in the country, with the highest cost of living and ranked sixteenth on the world’s list of most polluted cities. It was the centre of commerce and industry, a vital port on world trade routes since medieval times, though the inhabitants barely even realized that they lived by the sea. Probably because they were too busy navigating all that traffic. 

Jean cursed again, as their car remained exactly where it had been fifteen minutes ago. Baz continued to pour over the screenshots of the insta-chat, like she had been doing for the past hour, since she had only gotten access to them after being assigned to the case. She was now dressed in a black high-waist skirt, that was just marginally uncomfortable, and a loose dark green tunic shirt, neatly tucked in. Now, if Jean would stop cursing, they could actually pass off as the pair of detectives they were. 

Because although everyone believed that Baz had resigned or been honourably discharged or whatever-it-was-that-left-detectives-out-of-a-job-ed, she was officially on a sanctioned year-long sabbatical. She had requested the leave, first for health reasons, as her psychiatrist would attest to, and then to upskill. And as it was written in the Great Book, any officer of the law - be they retired, on vacation or extended leave - could be gang-pressed in to service in the case of unprecedented events or situations of extreme duress. And what constituted unprecedented or extreme was, in practice, decided by the Chief of Police or person of equal or higher authority in the judicial district where the officer was currently residing. 

And Chief Kiyomi Azumabito, unapologetic cheerleader of coloured girls, collector of promising young officers and Teta Bakhash’s secret admirer for years, had been only too glad to see where this trip would lead. 

By the time they got to Ocean Drive, they had been commuting inside Trost longer than they had spent on the road from Havenhearth to the city. Baz had the foresight to persuade Jean to stop for lunch before he punched the next pole, car and/or person he saw. It gave them a chance to take in their environment before diving in and discuss their approach. And to accustom themselves to the incredible heat and humidity that blasted their way as soon as the car doors were opened. 

By the time they stepped in to the air-conditioned pizzeria, hidden in one of the bylanes of Ocean Drive, Baz and Jean had sweated enough to supply a small town. They took a seat at the back even though the place was mostly empty. Baz handled the ordering, because as she reminded anyone who listened, food was her birthright. 

Waiting for pizza left Baz with mixed emotions. But at least they had their drinks. So now she could consider the facts before her. 

Based on some of what the Havenhearth members of the Instagram Chat so innovatively tagged Hildy’s Bitches had revealed, the Trost kids had gotten involved when the Hildegard students had visited the city for a sports meet late last year. There were seven students from Trost and nine from Havenhearth. The schools mentioned were all in the vicinity of Ocean Drive, Trost’s famous sea-facing promenade. Baz studied the neighbourhood on Google Maps as Jean watched the street outside through the large glass windows. Residences here meant layered buildings with huge sea-facing flats. Older villas tucked in here and there. But a lot of the territory was commercial. Impractically tall office buildings with glass facades, luxury hotels and high-end restaurants, boutiques and jewellery stores and the old opera house. Baz looked up the history of the place. Ocean Drive was described as upper-middle class, which meant that the names on their list were most likely children of lawyers, doctors and well-paid professionals, unlike their Havenhearth counterparts, most of whom were borderline aristocracy. There was old money here, but not legacy money. 

Well, clearly sexism came from all classes of society. 

It had been nearly two weeks since the chat came to light. And Jean’s team had been interviewing kids, parents and teachers non-stop since then. There was still no lead on Annie. They didn’t know if something had happened to her. Or if one of these kids had done something to her. Kidnap. Rape. Murder. They simply didn’t know where Annie had disappeared to. 

Their pizza arrived. Jean served Baz before helping himself to a slice, which he flavoured with more paprika than the doctor recommended. 

The IT Cell at Havenhearth had stalked some of these kids online, so they had some idea of who they were. They hoped that the confiscation of the Havenhearth lot’s phones and laptops and the subsequent gag order hadn’t tipped them off. After considering all strategies, Jean had recommended that two rookies continue posting on the chat so as to keep the rest hooked in case any chatter about Annie came up. Thomas Wagner continued to insist that he had nothing to do with her disappearance and even though evidence showed that he had purchased and then installed the spycams in Annie’s rooms, he kept pointing the finger at Eren Jäger. Even though there was nothing to implicate Eren, his name had come up on three separate occasions. First Mr Leonhart had mentioned him, then Armin had included his name on the list and now Thomas was practically blaming every mistake in his life on him. But the boy was clean everywhere. He was a good student, who did particularly well in English and Physical Education. Jean and Mina had both interviewed him and discovered nothing more than that Eren was also into pro-gaming and considered cheese slices a healthy breakfast. 

“Kids are stupid,” Jean said, blowing bubbles in his ice-tea. 

“Word.” Baz was eating her pizza slice crust first. Miraculously they still had an hour before they had to meet the detectives from the Ocean Drive Station. Clearly Trost PD knew how to account for time when setting up meetings with people from the other side of hills. 

“The stuff on the chat group itself is enough to send these brats away for a couple of years,” Jean said without much enthusiasm.

“Send them away and half the richest families in town turn against us. Not to mention turn against the families of the scholarship kids. Most of those parents work for people like the Wagners, one way or the other.”

This was their work then. Prevent Havenhearth from imploding. Again. Old feelings were coming back. Some of them felt good. Some, not so much. Travelling to a different city with your best friend to talk to some kids? Good. Realizing that everything you investigated, regardless of initial objective, had effects beyond the first order that impacted more people than you imagined? Bad. 

“Annie’s been gone for more than three weeks now. And we have no evidence to suggest something bad happened to her.”

“These chats, the videos aren’t enough?”

Jean rolled his eyes and snatched the fresh piece of pizza she had just picked up from her hands. 

“You’re a detective assigned to a case now.” He said, stabbing the pizza in her direction. “Start thinking like one. We have no evidence of bodily harm.”

“That kid stuck a camera in a teenage girl’s bathroom and posted videos of her bathing and changing on an Instagram chat with sixteen other participants. That’s not evidence that he wanted to harm her?”

“Baz, look at me.” 

And she did. They held eye contact for an intense seven seconds. 

“Yeah, okay, I know.” 

Ever since that last time, this phrase had become their code 

Look at me and really listen to what I am saying.   
Look at me and remember that we are on the same side.   
Look at me and stop interpreting what I say as per what you believe. 

They both took sips of their iced-tea, swallowing down the awkwardness of the moment. 

“I was locked in a room with Wagner for hours. I-”

“Dude, you were interviewing that kid in a police interrogation chamber. No need to make this weirder than it already is.” 

“Fine, I was interviewing Wagner.” Jean handed her the crust. Baz accepted it because it was filled with cheese and a girl needed her cheese. “The kid’s too stupid to do any of this!” 

Baz sucked on her pizza crust thoughtfully.

“But the others all point to him being the ringleader. Orchestrating the bullying in school and the chat group? Well, being a bully without brains is like the stereotype, no?”

“It’s not just the bullying. These guys managed to terrorize and silence a whole batch of students. They flew under the radar for the whole year. I mean even Armin, who gave me the damn names, didn’t witness anything. He says if a kid hadn’t come to him he probably wouldn’t have thought to tell me anything.” 

“The kid that came ahead to defend Levi?”

“Yeah.” 

“We still don’t know who that kid is?”

“Armin won’t tell me.”

“Have you tried sexing it out of him?”

“Have you met the guy?”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably the one sexing things out of you.”

“Most days he doesn’t even need sex.” Baz raised an eyebrow. “Shut up.”

“Have you tried talking to Levi?” she asked as a segue. 

“Not yet. I mean there is no reason to. You’ll be seeing him again this Friday?”

“Yeah,” Baz sighed.

“I take it the counselling is not working out?”

“Hey, I’m a great counsellor, he’s just not that… talkative.”

“So send him to someone else?” 

“Pfft, what do you take me for? I’ll crack that short grump! Just you watch.”

“While working full-time on this case?”

“Hey, I’m great at multitasking.”

“Brushing in the shower doesn’t count as multitasking.” Jean dusted his hands and straightened his tie. “Come on, finish that crust, we have to go.”

Baz shoved the remainder of the pizza in her mouth in one go making Jean wince. 

“Rets ro!” 

Fifteen minutes later, Detectives Jean Kirschstein and Baz Bakhash walked in to the Ocean Drive Police Station and pandemonium. 

Most of the station floor had been set up like a call centre. Officers and volunteers manned the lines, talking in to headsets, each attempting to be louder than the other, either in an effort to reach their listener or simply hear themselves over the din. Both the holding pen and the waiting room were overflowing with people, some yelling about one thing or the other. Officers walked in, their fingers entwined with suspected criminals in some vicious parody of romance. The booking desk was overwhelmed too, with the young woman sitting there waving her hands like a constable trying to direct people to side streets during a religious procession. Junior officers were consistently running between the desks and the people, carrying slips of paper and iPads with equal trepidation. Three separate people were crying in three separate corners. 

“And you thought their traffic was bad,” Baz side-mouthed. 

Jean caught the arm of a passing junior officer. 

“Hey, where can I find Superintendent Pieck Finger?”

“Superintendent Finger is busy,” the harassed-looking young man replied, clearly wanting his sleeve back from the impertinent blonde who had seen fit to grab hold of it. 

“Well, I have an appointment with her,” Jean said, pulling his blazer back to reveal the insignia pinned on his shirt pocket. 

The junior officer, who was sporting pit-stains due to the lethal combination of heat and stress looked at the insignia then at Jean. 

“I’m sorry Sir,” he said, not sounding genuine at all, “but you’ll have to get in line.” He jerked his chin towards a small crowd of people dressed too formally to be anything other than detectives. 

Jean let Pit Stain go. And then turned towards the waiting room. 

Baz turned to follow him, but just then someone called out. 

“Detective Kirschstein?”

It was a short woman with straight black hair and a hunched back, which didn’t impede her quick strides towards them. She held out a hand without breaking pace. 

“I am Superintendent Pieck Finger.” Jean shook her hand but she was already past him, “Please follow me upstairs, I’m afraid I may have some bad news for you. Who is that?” 

Pieck was already halfway to the stairs, parting the sea of people on the floor. She glanced back at Baz, who was essentially brisk-walking behind her and Jean. 

“This is Detective Baz Bakhash, she has just joined the case.”

“What’s this about bad news?” Baz asked as she drew level with Jean, who was a step behind Pieck. 

“Yes, we suspect the Trainer has taken a new victim. And that victim might just be Annie Leonhart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!! I hope you loved this chapter!! I actually wanted to know if you guys have checked the playlists for chapters 1-4. Lemme know what you think of them~
> 
> We will try to update as regularly as possible~
> 
> Badassunicornhina says much lurve. Love from me too. Stay safe and wash your damn hands people!


	9. Eagles & Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you usually just get your way by ignoring what everyone else is saying?” 
> 
> “It’s a sound strategy,” Pieck said with a smile, “for people like us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Description of Sexual Violence | Mention of corpses
> 
> We might be late, but we're here. Better late than never? Anyway, see you at the end of the chapter. Bye bye~~

The Vampire of Niteroi… The Night Stalker… The Witch of Vladimirovac… 

She wished the media would just call them what they were - murderers who destroyed not just innocent people, but families and communities - as opposed to giving them monikers that seemed so… aspirational. 

The Trainer. 

Trost had been dealing with this psychopath for more than a year now. He had already killed twelve people. Twelve lives gone. Twelve dreams crushed. Twelve families devastated. That they knew of. 

8 men and 4 women  
19 to 23 years old  
5’2 - 5’5, small-bodied  
Caucasian with lighter eye-colours

The Medical Examiner estimated that the Trainer kept his victims alive for three days to a week after kidnapping them, during which time he repeatedly sodomized them and engaged in sadistic sexual play. All victims had heavy injuries to the anal region, including bruising, cuts and internal haemorrhaging. All showed signs of being repeatedly choked to the point of unconsciousness and then resuscitated. Some victims had been beaten more badly than others. These were also the ones who had been kept alive the longest and suffered the most. 

His signature:  
1\. Grey pigment injected in to the eyes  
2\. Whip marks on the back and buttocks  
3\. A metal dog chain around the neck, tightened and pulled back to cause death through strangulation

Hence the name. The Trainer. 

The first three victims were found posed in hotel rooms. Since the first victim was a flight attendant and the scene of the crime was a hotel room, the investigation focussed on the flight, the travellers, the crew, the pilots. They scoured the CCTV footage from the hotel and surrounding areas. They turned the room upside down for evidence. 

And got nothing. Even when they went back a month to see how the murderer could have avoided the cameras without knowing exactly where they were. They grilled the hotel staff to see if anyone had colluded with the murderer. 

Zip. 

Then the second body had been discovered in a hotel room across the city. Then the third a week later in another hotel. 

When hotels were forced to adhere to strict guidelines for documentation of all visitors, the bodies started appearing in abandoned lots, mills and multi-story parkings. With increased patrolling in these areas, he moved his dumping site to the outskirts of the city, to the mangroves that lined it’s seaward exit. 

The first three victims were locals, even the flight attendant. The next four were among the thousands who travelled to Trost everyday for work or play. The women were all young professionals, single and living alone, who had moved to Trost recently for their jobs. The last victim was a student. He was discovered three days ago. 

And across a year and twelve dead bodies, there was not a single shred of forensic evidence. 

No DNA. No trace evidence. No CCTV footage. No eye-witnesses. 

Nothing. 

Profilers estimated that the Trainer was male, highly-organized, power-assertive (which was just a fancy way of saying the man liked to punish what he saw as inappropriate behaviour), in his mid-thirties to early forties. He must have some knowledge of legal processes and forensics because he was so careful about removing all evidence. And he had probably done this or fantasized about doing this for years, because he was as professional as they got. 

Professional serial killer. That would look good on any resume. 

The task-force put together to hunt down the Trainer was the largest in Trost history. Multiple stations, multiple jurisdictions, a call-centre for the tip-line and literally thousands of uniformed officers on the streets - patrolling routes in and out of the city, interviewing and exhausting every possible lead. Currently, the list of possible suspects stood at… 

“2000 people. We don't have the resources to watch or even monitor those many people.” 

“And you’re saying this monster could have our girl?”

Jean was chewing his upper lip. Which, Baz knew, was only something he did if he was very, very agitated. Well, your investigation leading to a potential serial killing would do that. 

One of the Trost investigators who had joined Superintendent Pieck Finger pushed a plastic baggy of evidence towards them. Baz examined it. It looked like Annie Leonhart’s wallet, her St Hildegard id clearly visible against the worn leather. 

“We recovered that next to the last victim,” Pieck explained. 

“But you said this guy was meticulous about the clean-up, why would he drop something like this?” Baz asked. 

“We think he’s trying to get our attention,” the tall blonde detective with them, who had introduced herself simply as Yelena, explained. 

“Oh, because you’ll have been ignoring him so far?” Jean asked, his voice higher than usual. He had begun pacing the room in addition to the lip-biting. 

“Serial killers tend to have massive egos,” Pieck explained again, in a voice that was remarkably patient given the situation, “We feel that he is disturbed because we aren’t closing in on him. Just the kidnapping, rape and killing isn’t doing it for him anymore. He needs to raise the stakes.”

“You think, he wants the police to close in on him so that he can feel like he is winning?” Baz asked. She had been doodling in her notebook to keep her thoughts in order. She could have really used something to eat. 

“Yes, which is why we think he will keep Annie alive till we do something that makes him feel threatened.” 

“Like what?” Jean asked, stopping to lean on the table, facing the Superintendent. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Baz said, “Whatever Trost does, if it succeeds, he’ll kill Annie. That’s the game your profilers predict?”

“It’s a strong possibility,” Detective Yelena said. 

“It’s the _theory_ ,” Pieck stressed the word, “that Detective Yelena supports at the moment.”

“And what is the other theory?” Jean asked. 

Pieck looked to the other Trost occupant of the room. The black man had been standing by the door and had remained silent the whole time. 

“Analyst Onyakapon, if you would?” the Superintendent prompted. 

The man stepped forward. His body-language was hesitant. And he cast a wary glance at the blonde detective. Baz immediately picked up the underlying tension between the two. 

“Based on the behavioural evidence,” he said, his Nigerian accent strong enough even in those few words, “we do not believe this man would drop evidence to taunt the police. He is secretive. He plans every last detail. We suspect he may even be a highly-qualified man with a stable job and income. He has too much to lose. He enjoys his lifestyle too much to threaten it.” 

“So how did Annie Leonhart’s wallet end up next to the victim?” Yelena asked him, with more aggression than the situation warranted. 

“Isn’t it your job to investigate that _Detective_?” Onyakapon asked. 

Baz looked from the man to the woman, sensing old tensions. Tensions she had experienced many times before. When it was her analyses being questioned. 

“As you can see,” Pieck raised her voice just that little bit in warning, “my people are stressed. We’re facing pressure from every possible direction. The public, the media, the government. I haven’t slept properly in months. This man… he’s been _fucking_ with us for far too long.” The expletive coming from her proper little mouth was twice. “Maybe it’s time for us to get some fresh perspective.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Baz said, looking at Jean. 

“You’re right,” he said, “until we get more evidence, we need to treat these as separate cases. Annie doesn’t match the age-range of the victims, but everything else is a fit. We need to understand how she got to Trost, if it _was_ her that came here with her wallet.” 

“And we still need to interview the kids on our list,” Baz added. 

“However, we also cannot neglect the possibility that this bastard has Annie,” Jean said, sounding like it was costing him every inch of his professionalism to say the words, “I’ll talk to Chief Azumabito. We’ll share everything. If there is anything Havenhearth can do to get this guy, we’ll do it. Can you get us CCTV footage from every camera between here and Havenhearth?”

“Yes,” Pieck responded, “I’ll have whatever we can access sent over.” She scribbled a note on the legal pad before her. 

Jean nodded in thanks and walked out of the room, presumably to update Azumabito. Baz got up to follow. 

“Detective Bakhash?” Pieck called. 

Baz stopped. She knew what was coming. Had been anticipating it ever since they started talking about the Trainer. She sat back down. Analyst Onyakapon and Detective Yelena took that as their cue to leave. 

“You were part of the team that brought down the School-girl Strangler in Capital City.” 

“Yeah.”

And that was why she was here, on a “sabbatical”. Because if there was anything that could send you running to your mommy, it was a man who committed those horrors on little kids. 

“Commissioner Magath and I were close, when I was a detective in Capital City. We’ve stayed in touch over the years,” Pieck said carefully, “He actually recommended your name to the investigation a few months ago.” 

“Magath always liked sticking his nose all up in my business,” Baz said, but without any real rancour. 

“As you grow in this career, you realize that looking out for younger officers is an unwritten part of the job description.”

“Looking out for, interfering in the peace of, it’s all the same, isn’t it?” Baz replied. She wasn’t trying to be confrontational. She was probably just getting hangry. 

“Call it the paternalistic side of the profession,” Pieck said, looking like the picture of contentment. Baz shrugged. Then Pieck leaned forward and looked Baz straight in her eyes. “Help us catch this guy.” 

“Superintendent Finger,” Baz said, straightening her back and matching the superior’s gaze, “I don’t know what you’ve understood, but I am simply consulting with Havenhearth police on a missing person case. I am not here in the capacity of an investigator.” 

“I’m going to send you what we have so far,” Pieck said, “just give it a look.”

“Do you usually just get your way by ignoring what everyone else is saying?” 

“It’s a sound strategy,” Pieck said with a smile, “for people like us.”

Baz rolled her eyes. But Pieck wasn’t wrong. 

“Send me what you have. I’ll take a look,” she said, “But I can't promise anything. I’m very busy.” 

Baz got up to leave, feeling like she had been manipulated in to something but finding it hard to mind it all that much. 

“Baz,” Pieck interrupted again, Baz stopped, “It means _eagle_ , doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Baz said without turning around, “my grandmother gave me that name when I was younger. Because I excelled at sharp-shooting, never missed a target.” 

Baz could feel Pieck’s gaze boring in to her. She continued to make her exit. Just before she stepped out of the door, she heard Pieck say. 

“Because you’re a bird of prey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Chained. Huge applause to badassunicornhina for doing a great job on this, yet again! Hehnihere is much proud. See you again with the next addition to Chained. Bye Bye


	10. Teens & Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Levi,” she said softly to the man in front of her, who still had a death-drip on the doorframe, “It’s okay now, you can let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Blood | Nuances of Domestic Violence
> 
> Hello~! Here's Chapter 10 of Chained, a few minutes late because I was having technical difficulties. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. See you at the end of the chapter~

Stupid Superintendent Finger. 

Stupid Commissioner Magath.

Stupid Detective Bakhash. 

Baz stared at the puzzle pieces before her - victimology, crime-scene photographs, media coverage, interviews, timelines, profiles - all methodologically logged in to the investigation management information system used by all major police departments in the country. Pieck had given her an all-access observers log-in to the virtual major incident room for the Trainer Task Force, which meant she could look but not touch. And so Baz had been looking, almost every free moment she got since returning from Trost. 

They had ended up staying in Trost for four days. They had tracked down each and every kid on their list. Most spoke to them, at their homes, with their families present. The reactions and responses were pretty much on track with the way things had gone down in Havenhearth. 

Denial: “How dare you? My kid would never do this!”  
Anger: “How dare you? Is this what we send you to school for?”  
Shame: “How… oh my God! What will people say?”

God! How were people still allowed to reproduce?

None of the kids knew Annie except obliquely from the sports meet and intimately from her videos on the chat group. One of the boys was even kind enough to tell them exactly how he used images of her bathing to wank off just last night. Baz wanted to smack the idiot, but Jean got there first. She had to move really fast to keep him off the kid. They left to threats from the lawyer parents. 

That night Jean called Armin and thanked him profusely for packing extra underwear before collapsing to the floor in tears. Jean and Baz had been best friends for years. They had turned to each other for comfort many times. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with actions. Sometimes with the warmth between their bodies. But this time, Baz knew that her best friend’s boyfriend had it covered. So she had left them talking quietly on the phone and slipped out of the room. 

She spent that night walking the streets of Trost in her pyjamas. 

Baz rubbed her eyes under her glasses. The system had database cross-referencing features that ensured that no vital clues were missed. It sometimes even picked up on investigative correlations and suggested possible next steps. But the Trainer had the IT system as confused as he had the police system. This guy had to have done this before, she thought. No one gets this good without practice. Shouldn’t the IT system have picked up similar MOs from crimes across the country? Shouldn’t there be a trail of botched up bodies that led them to this bastard? How had he never registered in the system? 

She was sitting in her counselling room at the old community clinic in Little Levant. Since returning from Trost a week ago, she’d had to have some serious chats with her colleagues about the new responsibilities she had taken on. First with the Havenhearth police department. And then with Trost. Though she was still not sure how that second one had happened. So the clinic needed to hire at least two new part-time counsellors because Baz could no longer stick to her commitment of running the counselling centre every day of the week. The only day she held onto was Friday. 

Her five o’clock was late. Katya had recently separated from her husband and was trying her best to keep her cleaning job at a local hospital so that she could continue to pay rent for the new flat she had shifted in to with her three young kids. She had no other family here, her mother-in-law was helping her with childcare and both women disapproved of the husband, who had been trying to gain access to the kids. Between all these things, Katya was stressed to the limit of her endurance. She had started drinking, but her supervisor at her job smelled it on her breath and had sent her straight to Dr Bakhash’s little sister who ran a free community clinic. 

Thinking of Katya reminded her of the last kid they had met in Trost. The IT cell at Havenhearth had managed to track all the chat group members on social media and they were surprised to discover that one of the boys on the group was actually a girl. Mikasa Spellman. They met Mikasa at her house. She was a mixed-race kid, with dark hair and Asian features. Her blank countenance was a mask Baz wished she could see through. Surprisingly though, Mikasa seemed well aware of her rights and refused to let them in without a warrant. The house itself was big, but rundown and in serious need of repairs. She claimed to live there with her parents, though they saw no sign of adults the entire time they stood chatting with her in the dilapidated yard. She was the captain of her school’s hockey team, Annie’s counterpart. So of course, she knew Annie, but couldn’t tell them any more than the fact that Annie was a worthy opponent. She also claimed that she was posing as a boy on the chat in order to gather evidence on the boys in her school.

“What were you going to do with all that evidence?”

“I was going to hand it in at school.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was waiting.”

“What for?”

“For the boys from my school to do more than react to the videos the St Hildegard students sent. I wanted to see if any other girls I knew were being targeted.”

If nothing else, the kid sure had a future in law enforcement. But Baz couldn’t shake the feeling that Mikasa Spellman hadn’t told them the whole truth. What the teenager could be hiding was beyond her at the moment, but it was that shifty vibe she got from her that made her connect the kid to Katya. Even after three sessions of talking and non-stop complaining, Katya hadn’t come clean about why she separated from her husband or why she was insistent on keeping the kids away from their father. Well, maybe today she’d finally find out because here was Katya walking into her room, a whole twenty-five minutes late. 

Baz closed the incident room on her laptop and got up to greet the already hassled-looking woman. 

Levi had arrived ten minutes early for his appointment, only to be informed that the person scheduled before him had come in late and so he would have to wait just a little longer. At least the waiting room was relatively empty. Other than Sasha, who seemed preoccupied with Connie’s juvenile attempts at flirting, there was just one other person there. A tall, heavyset man with a thick moustache, who sat closest to the exit. Levi took a seat the furthest away from him, right by the corridor that led to both Hanji’s and Baz’s rooms. He sat on the edge of the seat, doing his best not to keep glancing nervously towards the exit. 

Today was his fourth appointment. He finally knew why he kept coming back. 

The second appointment had been pretty much like the first. He didn’t talk. Baz didn’t ask him to. She served them tea and worked on her laptop. He sat on the sofa, lost in the books scattered on the centre table. Books he wanted to believe were a coincidence but suspected had been sourced specifically for him. It didn’t make any sense. There was no way she could have known how much books meant to him. Or what kinds he read. She could not have known. How much he had loved reading, how he saved every penny so he could to buy the next book, how much time he had spent willingly buried in books because they were the only part of his life that made him feel safe. How evenings had meant a nice cup of tea, a book and a few hours of just indulging in stories about dragons and magic and happy endings…

How he hadn’t read a single page in the past two years. 

“You can take them with you if you like,” she said when the hour was up. Because he had somehow ended up curled on the sofa fifteen chapters into the first book in a series about the Napoleonic Wars. But with dragons. He looked up when she spoke. She didn’t look up from her laptop. But he saw the smile in her eyes when he pocketed the first three books in the series. Almost desperately. 

The third appointment was… embarrassing. Like an awkward boner. Something he tried very hard to forget. But it kept coming back to him. Like an awkward boner. 

It had started the same. Tea. Books. Silence. Punctuated by occasional taps on the keyboard and turns of the page. 

The week had been long. He was tired. Sitting through nights in the internet cafe. Tired of constantly looking over his shoulders. Of sleeping with the lights on. Only to wake up with cold sweats and a heart threatening to burst through his defences. Of checking the lock a dozen times. Of feeling like someone had been, that someone always was. 

He fell asleep. Not just nodded off. But a deep, comfortable, insensate sleep. Between one page and the next. When he woke up, it was dark, he didn’t realize where he was and he had felt a second of panic before his eyes landed on her - still sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard. The light from the screen illuminated the concentration on Baz’s face. Her slight frown. Her pursed lips. Her hand on her chin. And for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, his body and mind relaxed instantaneously when they saw her. In fact, he had to stop himself from drifting off again. Had to force himself to return to his permanent state of vigilance. Which for the first time in a long time felt… unnecessary. 

“Welcome back,” she said as he sat up, not looking away from the screen. 

“What-what time is it?” he asked, his voice uncooperative. 

“Close to midnight,” she said. 

It should have been impossible. He had slept for nearly six uninterrupted hours. On a lumpy sofa in an unfamiliar setting. That was more than he slept for most weeks. 

It was strange that his first thought hadn’t been to ascertain if he had been drugged. 

He must have said he was sorry. He was positive he had. But in his experience, people didn’t look at you like that after you had apologized. 

“That’s an absurd amount of remorse for a nap,” she said, still looking at him strangely. He hoped against hope that he hadn’t given himself away. He knew where his instincts to over-apologize came from. And as he saw her dark eyes regard him, he realized he couldn’t have given himself away. There was no need to. Because his game had been up since the moment they had met. And again the most astonishing part was that that didn’t scare him. 

Baz hadn’t said anything further. She hadn’t asked any questions. She had offered him a ride home. He had accepted because past midnight, the busses stopped working and there was no way he could afford a cab back to his place. Even through the hour-long drive, she had left the decision to talk up to him. And since he couldn’t bring himself to, they had stayed silent the whole way. 

It seemed foolish now. This resolve to stay quiet. Like a child hiding his test results from parents who had already received a call from the teacher. 

It was his fourth appointment. And today he came to talk. 

He had prepared talking points. Notes that he carried in the pocket of his hoodie. He had rehearsed how he would come out and say it. Talk about that black time. Because that was what they wanted right? For him to reveal all his secrets? To show them the chains? 

He would do that. He could do that. It was time. 

But sitting in the waiting room, ten minutes past when his appointment should have started, he began to lose the confidence he had held steadfastly onto, for the past three days. He began to think of all he would lose in talking. Not just his possession of his story. But the opportunity to just sit in silence. With her. 

“Levi?” he looked towards Sasha, not at her directly, just toward her, “You go in now.” 

He nodded, stood and turned in to the passage. It was dim. But at the end of it, the door to Baz’s room was open. She was leaning on the door frame, talking to the lady who had eaten into his time. Baz was smiling and relaxed. The lady looked tired but satisfied. She pulled her handbag on to her shoulder. She turned. And started screaming. 

Levi didn’t have time to be shocked by the noise because of two things. One, the lady scrambled in to Baz, clawing at her and knocking her in to the room. Two, he felt something heavy shift behind him. Someone heavy. 

Levi was fast. He had learned to be. So he reached the door seconds before the tall, thickset man with the moustache. He turned and blocked the entrance, his feet apart, his hands on the frame. In another lifetime, the bull of a man would have barrelled past Levi, knocking his smaller body aside, tossing him down like he was garbage. 

But not now. Not ever. Levi had promised himself that. 

So he held the door-frame. He held his ground. He refused to move in the face of the man’s roaring fury, as the woman behind him continued to scream. As the man in front of him pulled out a carving knife. As the man charged at him with it. 

As blood drops scattered in the space between them. 

Baz turned to welcome Levi as Katya pulled up her bag to leave. She had barely registered the large shadow behind him before Katya screamed and dove in to her. Baz fell on her back as the woman scrambled to get purchase on her body, clawing at her like a person drowning and desperate. For a few moments, she was stunned. And then instincts kicked in. 

Baz locked her legs around Katya, and her hands around her neck. She raised her hips to flip them over. She restrained the panicked woman’s hands and slapped her. Hard. Katya was shocked in to silence, giving Baz a moment to look over her shoulder and see the knife run across Levi’s shoulder. She saw the blood spurt. And then she was running. She ran to her desk, yanked open the top right-hand drawer and lifted her gun out. 

Katya scrambled out of the way, as Baz cocked her gun and pointed it in the face of the raging man over Levi’s bleeding shoulder. 

“Drop the knife and raise your hands!” she shouted, deep and aggressive. The man froze. He dropped the knife. He raised his hands. “Back off!” She commanded. 

He took half a step before Connie came flying at him, tackling him around the middle and bearing him down to the ground. Like he had been trained, he placed his knee in the middle of his shoulder blades and pulled the man’s hands back to secure them in a grip. 

“Connie, lock him in the bathroom,” she barked, still holding her tone, “Do not resist!” she added to the man. 

Connie, though smaller in size, still trained hard at Krav Maga. He twisted the man’s shoulders just enough to get him to comply and then pushed him to the bathroom at the other end of the passage. 

“Sasha, call the police and an ambulance.” Baz’s voice was still hard, loud. Then she turned to Katya, who had crawled in to the kitchenette and was wailing hysterically. “You, shut the fuck up!”. Katya complied immediately. 

Baz secured the gun’s safety and stuck the thing in to the back of her denims. 

“Levi,” she said softly to the man in front of her, who still had a death-drip on the doorframe, “It’s okay now, you can let go.”

“Come on darling,” Hanji added, stepping over the bloodied knife with their hand extended to him, “come now, it’s going to be okay.”

Levi didn’t respond. Carefully, Baz wrapped one arm around his waist from behind him. And gently reached out and gripped the wrist of his right hand, which was still holding the door frame.

“It’s okay Levi, it’s over, come on.” She squeezed his wrist. He let go of the frame and his knees buckled. But she had a strong grip on him and didn’t let him fall. “It’s okay, we got you.” She slowly started guiding him towards the medical room. Hanji stepped to the side and took his other hand. “Sasha,” Baz called over her shoulder, careful not to raise her voice too loud now “get us some blankets and then check in on Katya.” 

Then they were inside Hanji’s room. Hanji scrambled to put together supplies and Baz helped Levi on to the examining table. Her grip on him didn’t loosen. She secured him against her. Holding him. His blood soaking through her shirt. She kept speaking to him in a calm, measured voice. She pushed his hair off his pale face, trying to gauge his condition. His eyes were open, but quickly glazing over. 

They couldn’t make out the extent of his injuries because of his dark hoodie. Hanji brought over a pair of surgical scissors to get them out of the way. But as soon as they came close with it, Levi’s body jerked and he began struggling against Baz’s grip. 

“Hey, hey, Levi, Levi, hey!”

Baz tightened her one-handed grip on him, using her free hand to turn his face to her. She looked into his eyes, holding him in place with her gaze. 

“No one’s going to hurt you,” she said, with all the conviction she could muster, “It’s over, okay? We got you. You’re safe. You’re going to be okay. I got you, Levi.” 

Something in that litany of reassurances must have clicked. Because Levi was looking at her now, and not through some horror he imagined. Slowly the panic left his eyes. Leaving only exhaustion. And slowly, Levi’s eyes shut as he collapsed, senseless in her arms. 

Sasha came into the room and Baz gestured for her to help. They held Levi’s unconscious body up and Hanji ripped through his clothing with quick, precise snips of the scissors. Most of the knife wounds were in the front, but before they could lay him down, Baz, Sasha and Hanji, all saw the marks that littered his back, crisscrossing, overlapping, fading like some bizarre piece of art. 

None of them said a word. They had to tend to his still-bleeding wounds. The old scars could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the quarantine is treating you well. Please stay hydrated, and remember that you will be okay. Take care. Bye~! See you with the next chapter~!


	11. Admirers & Artistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Rape | Blood | Forced Anal Penetration | Bondage and Domination | Power Play | Sexual Violence | Nuances of Corpse | Description of Corpse | Disgusting Behaviour
> 
> “Marco mi amor,” the old lady called from downstairs, “Todo está bien??”
> 
> (Please correct us if any of the Spanish above is wrong!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~! We're back with the next chapter of Chained!! I hope you're staying hydrated! See you at the end of the chapter~!

His skin was itching. It was tight. Like he had overgrown it. 

Eren wanted to claw it off. 

Instead, he raked his nails against the body in front of him. Folded in half. Angry, red scratches covered it. He added some more. They were such a lovely pattern. 

He wished he had something else, something sharper. So that he could embed them deeper. Mark the body permanently. 

_Eren Jäger was here._

The kind of permanence that didn’t exist in the world any more. You could create the most exquisite piece of art and it would get torn down. Torn down by dogs. Dogs who would walk upright to proclaim what could and could not be shown to the eyes of mortals. Dogs who didn’t understand that cruelty was kindness. When it showed you the correct path. When it was wielded by the right hands. Dogs who wanted to be arbiters of society. Of right and wrong. Of truth and beauty. Dogs that had to be taught how to obey. 

The body under him whimpered. Its sobs failing to match his rhythm. 

Eren decided to punish it. He pulled all the way out and then slammed his way back inside. Forcing himself to push past the tightly held knot of muscle that had been resisting the intrusion thus far. He knew it hurt the body more than it hurt him. Because the body screamed. 

“Marco mi amor,” the old lady called from downstairs, “Todo está bien??”

Eren pulled the dog-chain he had wrapped around the palm of his hand, yanking the body’s head up by the collar around it’s neck. And automatically it responded. 

“Si Abuela. We’re just… aah… playing video games.”

See? It was easy to train dogs.

“Calla por favor, I’m watching the telenovela!”

He struck the head with the leather strap at the end of the chain and willingly it buried itself back in the mattress. 

It took Eren a long time. He was distracted. Too many things. Too many balls up in the air. Too many things not going his way. First that bitch Annie went missing. After he worked so hard to train her for Thomas. Then Thomas was taken by the dogs and he squealed like a pig. Eren really thought he had taught the boy better than that. Well, one visit to him after he had been released solved that problem. Thomas had immediately recanted his testimony and claimed that the detectives bullied him into saying everything he said. That his account had been hacked. That he had no idea who put the video there. That the videos of him bullying the special cases at Hildegard were morphed. Anything to save his ass. 

Fucking coward. 

Of course, the dogs wouldn’t buy any of his bullshit. But they had lapped up his vomit of sincerity when they had called him down to the station for questioning. Eren knew not one of the videos would be connected back to him. And no one else would squeal. Eren Jäger was a good student. Eren Jäger didn’t get in to trouble at school. He was just passionate sometimes, in his arguments with teachers. And of course, his father would confirm that he was a good son. He had no idea who took those videos or where Annie had disappeared to. 

She was a cool girl, he really wished she came back. He couldn’t believe Thomas would do such a thing and then try to blame him for it! 

If it came down to it, it was Thomas’ word against his. And Eren Jäger was sure whose word they would believe. But Thomas Wagner was welcome to dig his own grave because Eren was done with him.

When he pulled out, Marco slid off the bed and fell to the floor. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he had passed out. Eren didn’t really care. He simply lifted his leg and slid the buttplug back in. Marco knew better than to remove it unless he was ordered to. He undid the dog collar from around his neck and folded it up neatly. He put it back into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He went to the bathroom. Flushed the condom. Zipped up. Put his shirt and jacket back on. 

Marco’s Abuela was so engrossed in the telenovela that she didn’t even notice when Eren lit a cigarette standing right behind her and walked out the front door. 

The two plain-clothed police officers assigned to watch him, however, did. They noticed him walk out. One hand in his pocket, the other protecting a cigarette from the rain. They watched as he got into his dark sedan and pulled out into the street. 

Then they followed him, silently, in their own unmarked car. 

_His toes were cold._

_But it was the noise that woke him up._

_A muffled thump, like something big falling down. Like snow fell off the roof sometimes in winter. Mommy had told him not to worry about noises in the night. Noises simply meant the house was settling to sleep._

_Eren yawned. He didn’t know why the house had to make noises before sleeping. He didn’t make any noise. He was quiet. But his toes were cold. And he was thirsty._

_So Eren crept out of bed. He stuck his feet in to his warm doggie-shaped night slippers and walked out of his room. When he reached the edge of the landing, he saw Daddy at the bottom of the stairs. Daddy was carrying something big over one shoulder. It was lumpy. Like the sack they kept the Christmas decorations in. Was Daddy going to decorate the Christmas Tree? But it was only August!_

_Eren tip-toed his way down the stairs. He followed Daddy as quietly as he could. Daddy was moving slowly. He went into the kitchen and then out the back door. It was raining outside. Eren liked the rain. He could splash in the puddles. And sail little paper boats in the gutter. Mommy would be mad if she knew he was out in the rain without his duckie raincoat and gumboots. But he had to see where Daddy was going._

_Daddy went to the shed. He put the bundle into a wheelbarrow and grabbed a shovel. Then he rolled the wheelbarrow out into the grounds. He walked and walked and walked. Eren was about to call out to him to ask him to stop. He was tired of following Daddy around!_

_But Daddy did stop. He stopped right by a tall red oak tree, one of the tallest on the grounds. Eren knew that because he wanted to make a treehouse in that exact same tree. Mommy had said they could do that when he turned five. Daddy began to dig._

_Eren was growing sleepy. He wanted to be back in his bed. The rain was cold. But Daddy kept digging. And Eren was curious. So he waited. When the hole was bigger than Daddy, he returned to the bundle on the wheelbarrow. Daddy lifted the bundle back up. The cloth fell away. It wasn’t Christmas decorations at all._

_It was Mommy._

_“Daddy!” Eren called out, “What are you doing with Mommy?”_

_Daddy was startled. He turned to him. His face white. Was Daddy scared?_

_“Eren, how did you get out here?”_

_“I followed Daddy.”_

_“Okay, everything is okay, go back to the house.”_

_“But what about Mommy?”_

_“Mommy - Mommy is just sleeping Eren.”_

_Eren looked at Mommy. Her eyes were closed. She did look like she was sleeping._

_“Why isn’t she sleeping in her bed?”_

_“Because this is special sleepy-time.” Daddy placed Mommy in the hole. “And if you tell anyone, you’ll ruin Mommy’s special sleepy-time. Do you want to ruin her special sleepy-time?”_

_“No, I don’t want to ruin Mommy’s special sleepy-time.”_

_“Then listen to what I say. Got back inside the house. Change and get in to bed. I will come back after tucking Mommy in. And when I come back, where will you be?”_

_“In bed.”_

_“Good boy, run along now! Or you’ll wake Mommy.”_

_“Okay, Daddy!”_

_And Eren turned and ran back to his room at top speed._

It was raining. Again. He supposed that’s why the memory had come back to haunt him.

Eren dreamed of that night often. Details becoming clearer with each rendition of his four-year self’s memory playing out in his mind. Things changed too. Sometimes it was Mommy burying Daddy. That was the version he liked best. Sometimes it was Mommy and Daddy burying him. Sometimes, it was just him, walking in the endless rain under the red oaks. 

He had built his treehouse in that same tree when he was six. At twelve, he had grabbed a shovel and begun to dig. He found Mommy’s skull. It was in the treehouse now. 

Eren pushed the memory to the back of his mind, where it continued to fester with all the other bad things. He walked through the small house. In the dark. Lightning flashed outside. But he didn’t need any illumination to know the house was empty. 

_Where was he? Why wasn’t he back yet?_

He went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. He licked the rim of the glass and left it on the counter. Eren knew he would notice that. He walked to the other side of the partition that separated the living space and the bedroom. The mattress on the floor was untouched. Neat. Tidy. With the bedsheet pulled snugly, a corner folded like this was some fancy hotel room instead of some dump in South Side. But like most nights, the bed remained untouched. He unzipped the collapsible cabinet that functioned as the man’s wardrobe. There were very few clothes, but everything was immaculately folded. He reached in and pulled out a pair of underwear from where he knew they were stacked. He unfolded them, slowly. He brought them to his face and crushed them against his nose. 

_Just disinfectant and detergent._

As always, he could never smell the man himself. And he wanted to. He longed to. He needed to. The itch in his skin returned full force. 

His phone pinged. The phone that wasn’t registered in his name. With an internet pack and nothing more. The phone that the police didn’t know he had. The phone that his father didn’t know he had. The phone that was kept safe with Mommy in the treehouse until he needed it. The phone kept for nights like this. The phone he used only for two things. Tracking the Trainer’s kills on the special messenger board that kept changing urls. And to track his own training. 

He shoved the underwear in his pocket and pulled it out. It was the message he had given up hope of ever receiving. 

Trainer’s-Bitch001: Who are you?

Every muscle in his body tensed, till he was shaking with excitement. The wait was finally over. Now he could truly begin. Become the Master he always knew he could be. That would show Daddy. Because Daddy would be the first one to learn to obey. He sat down on the mattress, his free hand scrunching its perfection. He had to take deep breaths to calm himself. Carefully, he typed out a response. 

Hunter.1: An admirer

Trainer’s-Bitch001: Proof?

Eren smiled. He clicked through to his photo gallery. Scrolled till he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of Marco. Kneeling with his legs spread wide open. Naked. Bent over. His hands bound behind his back. With his bleeding entrance on full display. 

He attached the picture and hit ‘send’. The response was immediate. 

Trainer’s-Bitch001: Nice try. Don’t ever contact me again. 

The private message board disintegrated. Eren chased after it as best as he could. But it was gone. 

He bit his hand to keep from screaming. His teeth leaving a bloody semi-circle in the soft flesh of his thumb. 

White-hot rage burned through him. He pulled off the bedsheet and ripped the mattress with his bare hands. He stepped to the cabinet and tossed it. He ripped out the clothes, tearing them apart and tossing the remnants all over. He did all this silently. After all, houses in this neighbourhood had thin walls. Literally. And he had enough self-control. 

He would prove to them that he did. 

He straightened up. Unzipped his jeans. Pulled himself out. And peed all over the mess he had created. 

It felt good. Very good. 

That would show the little man. 

_Eren Jäger was here._

Unable to find anything else to interest him, Eren straightened himself out, washed his hands and walked out the door. 

To find two flashlights pointed right in his face. 

“Eren Jäger?”

“Yeah?”

A badge was flashed in his face. 

“You are under arrest for breaking and entering.”

“What? No, you guys have it all wrong,” Eren laughed. “This is my boyfriend’s house. I come over here all the time.”

“Do you also force the door open with a penknife all the time?”

“No, I only did that because he forgot to leave the keys. The klutz! Oh, he’s going to be so mad that I scratched the wood!” 

“Till we can corroborate your story, you’re coming with us.”

“This is ridiculous! I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

Eren wanted to punch the man. Gouge his eyes out. Break his slimy fingers. But he complied, wearing the mask of mild irritation to hide the disgust he felt as the dog touched him and secured zip-ties around his wrist.

“This is all a big misunderstanding,” he grumbled as two people shoved him towards the car. He could feel a dozen eyes on him, as the poor hacks poured out of their anthill to peer at the entertainment. 

It didn’t matter. He would get out of this. He always did. 

He just had to make sure Levi Ackerman never found out that Eren Jäger had trashed his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter of Chained~! If you liked this work, please leave a sign through kudos or comments~!
> 
> Remember to take time off for yourself~! We'll see you again with the next chapter~! Bye bye~!


	12. Relationships and Restraints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ADDITIONAL CHAPTER TAGS*  
> Abuse | Non-consensual bondage/BDSM | Torture
> 
> “Hey Levi,” the ghost said, “I’ve been waiting here for a while now. Was afraid you wouldn’t ever come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! Hehnihere and badassunicornhina are back with the next chapter of Chained!! I truly found this chapter to be captivating when badassunicornhina sent it to me, and I really hope you find it captivating too! See you at the end of the chapter!!

_Twelve years ago…_

Levi was happy. 

Summer had gotten off to a great start. He had just been promoted to Assistant Manager at the convenience store. He attended night-school after work and his teachers loved him. Kenny had reduced his drinking and had become easier to manage. He wasn’t able to move around much, because of the stroke, but at least that meant he wasn’t able to beat Levi’s ass as much as he used to. His medicines and physiotherapy were expensive. His pension from that sales job covered some of it. But for the past three years since Kenny retired and Levi had returned from his little misadventure, the young man had more or less been the sole breadwinner of the house. Now with the promotion, Levi was sure things would get better. And once he got his vocational degree, he’d be able to do more kinds of work and make more money. Sure, it wasn’t what he wanted to do. In fact, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do at this point. But there was time enough to figure that out, right? 

He was only nineteen. He had plenty of time. 

Night-school ended at nine. Sometimes, the gang stayed back, working on some project or assignment together. Sometimes they went down to Helou’s Deli. Levi had a thing for middle-eastern food ever since that time he had gotten lost in Havenhearth. He had been six years old and Kenny had basically ripped him a new one once he had been found. But being hand-fed flatbread that looked uncooked and meat with spices he had never tasted in a public kitchen by an old lady he would never meet again, was one of his fondest memories. Kebabs meant comfort. Besides, Helou’s was close to the school and the owners loved their little gang. Because they ate up all the leftovers for a discounted price and helped fix whatever electrical, plumbing or carpentry problems Helou had at the store. They needed the experience for their degree and old man Helou was in no position to complain if the taps were slightly off-centre. 

Levi was also pretty sure Helou’s daughter had a crush on him. He kept getting extra tahini with everything. It had to be some kind of code. To be fair, he did find Isabelle cute and interesting. She had asked him to teach her English, which Levi did, planning lessons, writing out role-plays, taking the whole damn thing too seriously in the gang’s opinion. But that was just how he was. If he did something, he did it with everything he had. Or not at all. He hoped that didn’t give her the wrong idea though. Because Levi wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. 

It had been three years since Farlan. He was doing his best to forget that time. It didn’t help that Kenny kept bringing his stupidity up whenever he was feeling cranky - which given his recent illness, confinement to the house and inability to physically assault Levi, was much too often. But on a certain level, Levi felt like he deserved that. Deserved to be punished. Because anyone who fell in love with Farlan Church was an idiot who deserved every bit of misery life threw at him. But even so, three years of self-deprecation was more than enough. And he was starting to forget Farlan. Things were looking up. 

Levi walked slowly. It was close to midnight. But the air was warm and smelled of fruit. A decided improvement from diesel and liquor. He often came home around this time. Kenny would be asleep or laying inert in front of the television. He could get an hour or two of housework done before turning in. It had been like this ever since he started night-school. He turned in to the lane at the end of which lay the run-down house he shared with his uncle. When all of a sudden he stopped. 

The man in front of him could not be real. He was a ghost. An evil spirit. Come back from the past to haunt him for his mistakes. 

“Hey Levi,” the ghost said, “I’ve been waiting here for a while now. Was afraid you wouldn’t ever come home.” 

Levi stood still. First he was afraid. Now he was livid. 

“What the fuck do you want Farlan?”

“Levi, please…”

The same blonde hair, though not as messy as it used to be. The same blue eyes. Looking at him like Levi was the only thing visible for miles. The same beautiful face. The one he had wanted to see every time he woke up. That same voice. Begging him to stay. 

And Levi knew, even as he walked away from the man, that if Farlan Church was back, there was only so long Levi could hold out till he was falling again. 

_His jaw hurt. He tried relaxing it around the ball-gag, but it was like his facial muscles were beyond his capacity to control. The dog chain around his neck was tight. Because he had been pulling on it non-stop since he had woken up. Now he knew if he pulled anymore, he’d choke himself. Part of him wondered if that was something, a way out. But he didn’t want to die. Even if he wanted this all to end. He didn’t want to die. Besides, Master would be angry if he died._

_His hands were taped up, covered in mittens. It was to prevent him from scratching himself. Because Master was the only one allowed to mark his skin. The mittens also prevented him from sliding his hands out of the cuffs. Not that he hadn’t been trying. His wrists were cut up, soaking the mittens, bleeding on to the floor. Master would be angry, but he was desperate. Master would understand that he had been desperate right?_

_He was desperate because he wanted to pee. He had been holding it in for hours. Usually he was allowed to go once in the morning. But it was his fault. After the beating last night, he had passed out. And had only woken up once Master had already left. So no walk for him._

_Bad dog! He was a bad dog!_

_He was tired. So tired. And everything hurt._

_By the afternoon, after hours of controlling himself, of trying to break free, he couldn’t anymore. He felt the pressure in his abdomen ease._

_And because he was still chained, Levi continued to lie there, dirty, naked, crying, in a puddle of his own urine._

_Now…_

Baz walked back in to the private wing of City General. The day was beginning to catch up with her. But she knew that she couldn’t rest yet. It was nearly five in the morning. She hadn’t slept all night. The entire hospital was empty, except for the night staff. But no one stopped her. Everyone knew Baz Bakhash, Dr Salim’s younger sister. She stopped outside at the nurses station to enquire about Levi’s status. That was when she heard the sounds of a struggle coming from his room. The medical team rushed to check on him. But Baz was faster. 

She didn’t need to switch on the lights to realize what was wrong. 

“Why the hell would you restrain him?” she barked at the nurse and the attending who had followed her inside. The attending switched on the lights as she moved to Levi’s bedside. The nurse, who was a large man, clearly hired to help with situations of this sort moved in to subdue the patient. And again, Baz got there first. 

“Stay back,” she ordered the man, who much like Katya’s crazed husband, obeyed immediately. Then she turned her attention to the man on the bed. 

Levi wasn’t fully conscious. His eyes were still closed. But he was struggling with the padded straps that held his wrists and ankles. His right arm had also been tied down to a wooden support. He was making incoherent sounds, like he was trying to say something but couldn’t. 

“This is the third time this is happening,” the attending informed her, in an emotionless voice, “We can't keep sedating him. And if he keeps thrashing around like this… he’ll just hurt himself.” 

“I understand,” Baz acknowledged. But instinctively, she knew it was the restraints that were making him restless. She moved closer to him. “Levi?” she said to him gently. She didn’t know what she expected that to achieve, but to her surprise, Levi’s struggles eased off a little. Now that he wasn’t moving his head so much and she could see his face, she saw tears falling from his closed eyes. He was sobbing, unable to form words. “Levi, it’s okay sweetheart, you’re okay…” she continued. She reached out and tentatively placed her fingers on his forehead. He flinched at the initial contact, but seemed to relax when she spoke again. So Baz gently ran her fingers through his hair, speaking to him, taking his name, reminding him of where he was, who he was with, but most importantly that he was safe. 

She knew from her past encounters with the man that Levi had some kind of issue with anxiety. She wasn’t qualified to make a diagnosis of course, but just the first time she saw him at the clinic, unable to walk inside because of the people and the noise was a red flag. He didn’t talk much, but then again she didn’t need him to. 

He worked very hard to control and hide himself.   
He had an abusive past.   
He wasn’t exactly above the water, legally. 

All this was evident on day one. 

He loved reading. But he had forgotten how to allow himself to love something that simple.   
He had trouble sleeping. Because he was scared. And worked overtime to convince himself that he wasn’t.   
He was intelligent. But hadn’t had any formal schooling. Which was odd given that his records from Havenhearth showed that he had a high school diploma. So he probably had some expertise forging documents. But if he was using that skill-set for more than just himself, he wouldn’t be so desperate to hold on to his job at Havenhearth.   
So, it was possible that Levi was on the run. It was possible that Levi wasn’t even his real name. 

But Levi was who he chose to be now. So that was what she would acknowledge him as, until he chose differently. 

She’d acknowledge it because Levi Ackerman protected people. Even though no one had protected him. 

He had the scars on his back to prove that.   
And now he’d have scars across his front too. 

Baz sighed, pulling the blanket over his tightly wrapped torso. He had been stabbed thrice in the stomach. His right shoulder had been lacerated. He had damage to his intestinal tract. And he had lost a significant amount of blood. But Salim had personally assured her that he would be fine, that given enough time and rest and care, he would make a full recovery. Her brother could be so dense at times. No one made a full recovery from things like this. 

Levi twitched again, as his body adjusted to the combination of injury, pain-medication and shock. She placed her hand back on his forehead. It was nine in the morning. He had finally settled in to a fitful sleep. Levi had woken up from his sobbing stupor long enough to understand where he was, sip some water and ask after everyone else at the clinic. But everytime Baz moved away, he grew restless. So she kept touching him, kept running her palm across his head, kept repeating the same words that she had been saying to him since Hanji’s attempt to patch him up. She was tired. She hadn’t slept the whole night. The number he had listed as an emergency contact turned out to be bogus. So no one was coming to relieve her. But Levi had stood between her and a knife. If he needed her palm on his head to remind him that he wasn’t alone, she’d sit by his bedside and bloody well keep it there till her arm fell off. 

It was just annoying that in the meanwhile, Jean would probably squeeze a confession out of that Jäger kid. 

It was annoying. But not annoying enough to make her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter of Chained! Please leave kudos and comments to let us know that you enjoyed it, it really keeps us going~! It would mean the world to us if you could share it with people who you think will be interested.
> 
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> Until the next chapter, adios~!!

**Author's Note:**

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